


When The Sun Sets On The Dune, You Know Where To Find Me

by WonderAss



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Smut, F/M, Horror, Interspecies Romance, Loyalty Mission, Mental Illness, POV Multiple, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Trauma, Worldbuilding, recruitment mission
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-04-08 09:20:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 37,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14102307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderAss/pseuds/WonderAss
Summary: "No, he just didn't have much of an opinion on humans. Which made it all the more interesting when one of the most famous humans in the galaxy drops by and asks if he wants to join the Normandy."





	1. I Just Shoot Things

**Author's Note:**

> Commander Ale Shepard has a habit of showing up out of the blue.

He didn't think much about humans.

Why would he? It's not like he had a lot of free time to begin with.

When he wasn't doing meticulous suit repair (there always seemed to be a little extra dirt in the joints) he was on guard duty. When he wasn't on guard duty he was padding around planet after planet in search of scraps or useful tech with one of his two usual bands. When he wasn't doing _that_ he was sleeping. He didn't have a lot of time to muse over yet another species added to the already overflowing galactic community.

Did he wonder? Sure. Sometimes he had a spare minute in-between falling asleep and remembering to turn his nasal filters off to muse over something other than guard detail. That was about the beginning and end of it. He didn't quite line up with the majority opinion of humans being special and unique, though even further from the nearly as common sentiment of them being pushy, greedy suck-ups. Granted, it's not like he didn't _understand_. It might've been centuries since his people were booted off of the Citadel space's prestigious order, but he still felt the sting whenever he was the only quarian in the room the rare time he was somewhere other than among the Fleet or on an abandoned planet. He got it. He just didn't _get_ it.

Humans were newcomers. In many ways, so were they. While quarians had contact with other races well before their exile, humans were first noteworthy not just for their stubbornness on the field, but also for how secluded they were. They genuinely had no damn idea there was anyone else out there until they ran into the turians out of the blue (which, in retrospect, could have turned out far, _far_ worse). How were they also supposed to know they'd be welcomed with relatively open arms? It was a bunch of bitterness and regret masquerading as a genuine opinion. Sometimes he wondered if the Admiralty Board needed to do their job at all.

No, Kal'Reegar just didn't have much of an opinion on humans. Which made it all the more interesting when one of the most famous humans in the galaxy dropped by and asked if he wanted to join the Normandy.

The Admiralty delivered the unanimous vote they wanted to know more about dark energy build-up. They received reports from scouting ships about geth activity beyond Haestrom and considered it a sign to keep up the pursuit closer to the Perseus Veil. While his crew wouldn't exactly be knocking on its door, it was closer to the Fleet's boundaries than Kal'Reegar would like. He's saddled with a smaller team this time to avoid scrutiny, offered a choice upgrade for one of his preferred weapons and given a simple directive by both the Admiralty and his captain -- get in, steal anything you can get your hands on, _book it_.

' _Galaxy's dangerous enough without seeking these bastards out._ ' He'd thought in another endless, irritable loop as he contacted one prospective squadmate after another. ' _But that's not what I fight for, is it? I fight for the Fleet's best interests, even if their best interests should prioritize **not** being blown to shreds._ '

He needed as many strong guns as possible -- even if they _weren't_ going to linger and poke at dirt samples for hours -- but the Migrant Fleet Marines were always short. Eight was a solid enough number that could see them covering more ground in less time, a few to guard the frigate, but he's only able to take three, including him. Kal'Reegar chooses two soldiers from the Balarenna -- Vin'Donna and Haro'Kena -- alongside the newly promoted salvage tech from the Rayya with a little extra free time on her hands. Pua'Sheva wasn't happy about being near the Veil -- she was skilled _and_ inexperienced -- but was more than willing to give the Admiralty the benefit of the doubt. He supposed _someone_ had to.

The benefit of the doubt is starting to look like all they have once they clear the surrounding cluster of the Far Rim and enter too damn close to geth space. They started receiving unusual tech readings even before passing Haestrom -- "Oh, we're off to a _perfect_ start." Vin had drawled -- and he's positive he keeps seeing activity out of the corner of his eye as Haro navigates in and around space debris with care. Kal'Reegar isn't about to pull down his squad's morale with their chances, so he makes small talk with Vin and hopes this won't be the last conversation they have.

"How long do you think this will take?" Pua'Sheva asks when talk dies down and everyone starts double-checking their weapons. She's been the most excited and most nervous of the group. Like a fresh adult about to go on Pilgrimage.

"Not long." He replies. He had to choose between an upgrade for his omni-tool and his assault rifle after the Balarenna went through a stock shrink. He's hoping he doesn't regret his decision to keep with his old-time favorite. "Just stay behind us and focus on your readings."

"Do you think this will be anything like Haestrom? We're far too close to Charoum." She presses. Kal'Reegar takes in her twitchy fingers and bright stare. She needs to know what they're up against, but he also needs her to focus. "Not that you didn't do your best, but there are a similar proportion of geth here, too, and the planet is also pretty inhospitable to organic life..."

"Tuchanka is inhospitable. Terro is just dry and covered in rock. Besides, Haestrom was a ticking time bomb all around. The worst example we've had of dark energy build-up so far and we had to stick around a _lot_ longer than usual to dig through all the rubble." He'd rather conserve energy, but Pua'Sheva is starting to shake visibly the closer they drift toward geth space. He turns on his omni-tool and shows her the rough schematics given to him by the Admiralty -- she may not be a soldier, but he knows a thing or two about pre-battle jitters. "Remember, we're just here to get some clean readings and not get shot. I don't know much about the former, but I've got over a decade of experience on the latter." He flicks it off. "Just stick with us."

"Okay." She nods, a little too hard, and fiddles with her omni-tool. "Can do. Hopefully I can get a confirmation on black flux within the hour. It's going to have to be measured as far away from biotic engines and fuel emissions to be accurate. The data I saw from Haestrom had too much outside activity to be entirely reliable."

"Well, I can't really comment on all that." He chuckles. "I just shoot things."

She jumps when a sharp _rumble_ drums against the hull's shields. A well-placed shot by Haro into an incoming chunk of rock too close for comfort.

"Boom." He agrees.

They barely touch ground and it's already less a noble mission and more navigating an asteroid field in a pre-flight frigate. The winds are nasty, with little else but rock and irregular canyons to break it up. Terro is a small planet, covered in dark rock and filled with sloping hills and geysers that spout bright white every few minutes -- he can see Charoum's red orb to the west, bright and solid with minimal cloud cover. Their scanners start acting up once the frigate is out of sight, a good sign that still means they have to navigate further out than he'd like. He soothes Pua'Sheva the best way he can and instructs her to turn her helmet light off as they walk beneath rocky overhangs and avoid open ground as much as possible.

The sloping hills that start to greet them a half hour in give them decent cover, but also make it easy for an ambush. Geth claimed Charoum as their own decades ago and, although quarians rarely ever went out here, he wasn't about to assume they overlooked this place. He keeps his head on the swivel as the young scientist mutters to herself.

"Wait, wait." She says, for the seventh time since they've left. His soldiers have been fairly calm all the while, but Haro is starting to get a little annoyed. "Sorry, I'm sorry, there's another reading just over here..."

"We got what we need. Let's go back already." He grumbles. He'd worked with the man only once before, but he was a stout soldier. Good at his job, good under fire. A restless type, though. A quarian made for the battlefield first and everything else second.

"She's just doing her job." Vin counters, crouching and resting while she can. She rubs dust off her helmet and flicks it into the air. "Whatever she needs to do will be helping the Fleet. If you want to get grouchy, get grouchy at the Admiralty for sending us out here. God, this planet sucks."

"Should I?" Haro asks, looking to him. Kal'Reegar tilts his chin down to level his gaze. "Seems Kal would be a better choice for that."

"Focus on your mission, Haro." He'd normally joke a little more, lighten everyone's spirits, but this somber, dark hunk of rock is starting to wear on him already. "You can practice your speech on the frigate back."

Even if he _did_ encourage some banter, the sight of a downed ship in the distance would've made them all go silent. Vin lets out a soft _tsk-tuck_ of sympathy and moves her hand from side-to-side in a quick prayer. It's twisted out of shape, covered in dirt and having clearly been there a while, but he can tell a quarian make three miles away. A few chunks of half-melted rubble stick out of the ground around it like stunted trees. Whatever downed it wasn't content to at least let it have the dignity of a noble crash. It was blasted to bits with cruel efficiency. There wouldn't even be bodies to find.

"...Not pre-flight. Still old." Haro notes, with the soft, even tone of someone who's seen it all before. "Poor bosh'tets have been here a while."

"Oh. The scanner is going _crazy_." Pua'Sheva breathes. She takes a few careful steps forward, holds it up in the direction of the ship and, like it's being guided by the ancestors themselves, it acts up again. She glances over her shoulder at them. "We're already pretty far out..."

Kal'Reegar appreciates her caution. It makes it all the more surprising when Haro's the first to speak.

"We're here. Might as well." He flicks his chin at her. "Right behind you."

Pua'Sheva hesitates. She looks to Kal'Reegar. He gives her an accompanying nod and she starts off at a light jog up the slight slope. She probably found it a sudden and strange change of heart, but looking at the aged wreck of quarians long since past had a way of motivating a marine. After all...nobody would come here willingly.

"Just one ship?" Vin asks. "Think they were exiles?"

"Probably. If the Fleet won't take them, everywhere else is pretty slim pickings." Kal'Reegar responds. "They also could have defected."

"But how long?" She shakes her head, though doesn't keep her eyes off the scientist and soldier pair as they near the towering wreck. "Surely exiles wouldn't be so desperate they would come out _here_..."

Vin was a classic quarian, through and through. Devout to the ancestors and always handy in a pinch. Kal'Reegar wracks his brain for scouting information he might've heard at some point in his career. Haro had noted it wasn't pre-flight -- it could be the Maelyava, a rogue quarian ship that broke away from the Fleet after a notorious disagreement with another ship that ended in cannon fire. It disappeared without a trace after snagging a mass relay before it could be captured by the Migrant Fleet Marines. Then again, it could also be the Zessul.

A shot rings out right as he's holstering his rifle to give his arms a break. Haro hits the ground.

" _Geth!_ "

A group of geth troopers glitter just beyond the hill. Seven, by the looks of it. Why the _hell_ didn't his scanners tell him? It must be the presence of dark energy. It had a way of making their technology less reliable than it should be, especially when their upgrades were still being finetuned. Their readings may have been going crazy, but he knew something was suspicious that he hadn't seen any geth, any mercenaries or general sign of _life_ , the entire time.

"Take them out!" He yells, hunching behind a hunk of what appears the half-stuck remnants of a ship cannon. "Keep them off Pua'Sheva! Fire away from the ground if you can and keep dust cover to a minimum!"

They're on top of the pair in less than a second. Haro sends a hail of fire into one, a well-placed grenade into another two -- who scatter before it can hit them head-on -- but it leaves the scientist open for attack. Basic training is useful, but just that. Basic. Pua'Sheva's combat experience is _nothing_ compared to theirs. She barely manages to get a geth off her before fleeing straight for cover. ...Right under that massive, treacherous pile of scrap that's rattling from explosions and gunfire.

" _Sheva!_ " Kal'Reegar roars. "Get away from there!"

The geth are clever. They don't even bother shooting at her, not with her smaller than Haro and moving so quickly. They fire _around_ her, right where the rubble is precariously resting, and it all comes crashing down before she can even turn back around.

" _No!_ " Vin cries. She and Haro double their efforts, edging the geth back with heavy fire, but the damage has been done. "Damn it all!"

She's trapped.

They could retrieve her, if they had _time_ , but geth are damned pyjaks. Lift up a rock and find fifty more. All three of them had whittled them down to just two -- even Pua'Sheva's one was twitching mightily and not about to get back up -- but he spots flashlights searching in-between the ground and the dark dust kicked up by the ship's wreckage. A glance at his omni-tool and all he gets is a blur of digital communication garbling up his feed. He doesn't have time to parse it out, but he'd bet his assault rifle they were calling for even more reinforcements. At the very least he knows he doesn't want to find out.

"Do we get her? It could take forever to clear out that rubble." Haro asks. Vin grabs a grenade and flings it over their cover, an impressive arc past the ship's remains and into the far field where one of the geth attempted to fall back. A sharp, erratic _gurgle_ pierces the air.

"Of _course_ we do. There aren't that many geth. You get the frigate and I'll run over-" Vin responds, only for a much louder explosion to cut her off abruptly and send a wall of hard dirt all over them. The geth weren't happy about Vin's other response, it seems. "Kal, we should go _now_ -"

They'd need to assess the damage up-close to do any good and not put Pua'Sheva in a worse spot trying to free her. There were still two geth nearby ready to fight. More in the distance and closing in fast. Between the three of them it'll be all they can do to make it back to the frigate and clear the fireline. Just when he thinks their luck can't get any worse a damn juggernaut rears its ugly head around the collapsed ship and lets out an omnious rattle. Haro hisses in frustration and reloads a clip. Kal'Reegar only has a few seconds to make a decision and stick with it.

"Saving their best for last." He growls. "Even the geth have a screwed sense of humor."

It's a good thing he isn't on painkillers right now, or he might've written off the sight of a human Spectre, turian soldier and famed engineer showing up over the hill. Kal'Reegar's shock only lasts until they slide into cover behind him, as much as they can fit with their shields taking a battering.

" _Commander Shepard?!_ " He yells over his squad's gunfire, the happiest scream he thought he'd have this entire ancestors-damned mission. "Fancy seeing _you_ on the battlefield again!"

"That's no coincidence! You're always where the action is." She yells back as she ducks behind his cover, donned in dark bronze armor that makes her a beacon against the slate gray ground. God, she's a sight for uncovered eyes. "Been hearing how good with a gun you are. Your first impression wasn't exactly lacking, either. You interested in a new position, Kal'Reegar?"

Commander Ale Shepard. Famous (and, in others' regard, _infamous_ ) space marine. The very first human Spectre. Colony _and_ military brat. Hacked a previously-thought 'impenetrable' batarian pirate ship and trapped the entire crew inside to be picked up by the turian fleet. Apparently great at holding her liquor. Bad with press. Damn good at everything else. He'd found it impressive enough that one of his own people got to work alongside her in the pursuit of Saren, yet he _still_ never would've guessed she would later visit the Fleet with a former Admiralty Board member's daughter in tow to _shout down the Admiralty Board_.

That was nice enough, but, no, she asks if he'd also like to become an asset to one of the finest human-turian inventions floating around in space.

_Definitely_ glad he isn't on painkillers.

"Not a bad offer, Commander!" He responds as he double-checked his shields -- they've been dangerously close to overheating the entire time thanks to the geth's improved overload tech. "I'd love to have a longer chat once we're not being shot at!"

Those synthetic bastards were never great conversationalists and they aren't about to dispute that legend as they pepper rounds at their dwindling cover. Tali'Zorah's drone is zipping across the far field tirelessly, keeping the reinforcements just distracted enough to slow them down, and her turian squadmate has found a spot further back up the hill to provide support fire. Kal'Reegar hadn't forgotten the near-rhythmic gurgles of geth in the distance as he gave that collosus on Haestrom something to think about. The guy was a _great_ shot.

"Sounds like a plan!" Shepard agreed, boosting her shields with a flick of her arm. "What do you need me to do?"

"I have a squadmate trapped under that rubble. Pua'Sheva." Kal'Reegar ducks his head as a chunk of his cover goes flying and nearly exposes him. "Get her out of there and I'll keep the geth off your tail. I'll send one of mine to grab the frigate. Let's get out before they bring reinforcements!"

Rescuing their scientist is still a gamble, even with their bolstered numbers, but Shepard doesn't even hesitate to round the corner and head straight toward the collapse. That's what made her the first human Spectre -- not just circumstance, but her desire to throw herself in the line of fire for others. Now all he can hope is that Pua'Sheva is actually alive to make this all worth the effort.

"Are they trustworthy?" Vin asks. If she was anything more than dutiful, it was suspicious. Right now he has no patience for it.

"They saved our asses back on Haestrom. Go get that frigate, soldier!" Kal'Reegar orders with a _pop_ of his rifle's heatsink. Vin takes off with her head ducked low and her rifle clutched in both hands, gunfire popping dirt clouds at her heels. Haro turns from the battle only to give him a quick nod. A seconds' worth of solidarity between remaining soldiers.

_Keelah se'lai._

' _Lose one or lose 'em all._ ' Kal'Reegar thinks as he sends a hail of assault rounds into the faceplate of a geth armature, Haro watching his back and firing the opposite direction at a flanker who broke rank. ' _Tired of having to choose, but I'll never get tired of filling these bosh'tets with bullets._ '

With the other geth driven far enough not to be an immediate concern they can focus on the biggest enemy on the field. Kal'Reegar activates his overkill protocol and vaults over his cover, running straight at the juggernaut with the intent to leave it a smoking pile of rubble. It's already taken a beating thanks to Shepard's turian friend. When its shields pop there's nothing stopping Kal'Reegar from turning it into an impressive imitation of the downed quarian ship.

With the juggernaut up in flames and victory singing in his veins, Kal'Reegar can't resist a heartbeat's second to take a better look at Shepard in action. Last time they fought together he'd been half-delirious with pain and had an entire geth colossus to focus the majority of his attention on, but now he's given a hull-window seat to the Commander's unusual fighting tactics. Erratic, even _sloppy_ , but hypnotizingly effective. Like a supernova in motion. He'd only witnessed an exploding star once, but just like Shepard in a firefight, it's a sight he knows he won't forget.

" _That's all of them._ " Haro says over communication. " _For now. ...You sure have powerful friends._ "

"You're telling _me_." Kal'Reegar huffs as he jogs toward the wreckage.

It doesn't take long for all five of them to move the worst out of the way. Pua'Sheva's helmet is cracked from top to bottom, her leg is twisted out of shape, but she's alive. That's far better than he thought. With Tali'Zorah's help they sling her between them and half-walk, half-carry her back to the frigate, the other three keeping an eye out in each direction.

"Another close call." She says over the lolling head of the delirious scientist.

"Yeah." Kal'Reegar pants. "Aren't they always."

"At least everyone here has a second chance." Tali'Zorah doesn't elaborate further. He doesn't need her to. "Come on, Pua, there you go. Try not to pass out before we can give you some antibiotics."

They pick up the conversation hours later on the pick-up frigate, all of them tired and singed and still whole. A successful clean-up mission, if a little too tight for his preference, and _again_ he has the new human Spectre to thank. ...Again.

It's a battered and beat-up old thing -- extra cramped with their retrieved salvage and guests -- but it's got him and his crew out of more pinches than just about any other. He'd defend it like a mother varren her pups, but he doesn't need to. Shepard just casts it a glance that's more appreciative than judgmental -- running a gloved hand over its creaking hull -- before getting straight into business. The Normandy is going on a secret mission into an extremely dangerous area and, put simply, they need _all_ the help they can get. It sounds basic enough, but his three-squad is still in earshot and Tali'Zorah is conspiculously quiet. There's there's plenty she's not telling him.

As grateful as he is, Kal'Reegar thinks of the best way to let her know he'll consider the offer once he's a _bit_ more in the know.

"Hm. I'm needed in the Fleet, but if they think I'm needed on the Normandy _more_ , well." He leans against the wall, as much as he wants to sit down. His shaking muscles need to stay in mild activity after the day's strain. "You've got yourself a good gun."

"More than good." Shepard corrects. "I haven't forgotten your aim with a rocket launcher on Haestrom."

"Neither have I." The easy compliment makes his chest glow. "My arm's still cramping."

It's a lighter tone than he feels with the Commander peering at him with eyes the strangest shade he's ever seen. He remembers how they had flared on Tali'Zorah's behalf when she presented herself to the Admiralty Board's judgement less than a half-cycle ago -- the Spectre had asked for the crowd's opinion and gotten one _hell_ of a riot going. Shepard had asked him his thoughts on Tali's accusal back then and it was like navigating a battlefield littered with leftover mines and still-active geth units. The now-famed engineer is giving Pua'Sheva's suit another check-up -- the scientist is lucid now, not quite as rattled, but they're not out of hot water until they get her to a clean room. Haro is kneeling next to her and offering a few words of comfort. His roundabout way of apologizing after getting short with her earlier.

"Did I g-g-get..." Pua'Sheva's voice glitches unevenly through her damaged helmet. "...get the d-d-data?"

"We got enough." Haro assures. Vin doesn't take her hands off the wheel, but she glances over her shoulder at her comrade-in-arms when he adds, "Thanks to you."

It's good to reunite with Tali'Zorah. Welcomed back to the _Fleet_ , no less. Indeed, he had meant it when he roared at the four about his potential resignation should she get booted to save their sorry hides -- that entire trial had been one embarrassing farce after another, doubly so for having to be witnessed by humanity's unofficial representative. It wasn't the meanest threat Kal'Reegar could come up with, but aside from his sense of humor (which wasn't utilized enough anyway), his skill with a gun and the potential _removal_ of said skill was the most effective he had. With quarians still the galaxy's proverbial pyjaks, he wouldn't be out of work yet.

For better and for worse.

"If Reegar comes on board it'll be nice to have another quarian." Tali'Zorah quips at her side. "I've about had it up to here with humans' ideas of dextro 'cuisine'." Her turian squadmate, relatively quiet this entire time, lets out a none-too-polite cough into his fist. Then, to his surprise, Shepard lets out a noise he can only register as offended.

"I said I'm _working_ on it. I hate to say you're low priority, but you're two dextros on a team of levos." The human rubs the back of her helmet. "The chef has a hard enough time not burning a salad as it is."

"But I'm _special_." The turian insists. Kal'Reegar never liked reducing people to the name of their species, but he didn't have much to go off of yet. He's tall, still so by his people's standards, and his armor boasts a nasty blast hole around the collar. Even quarians had the means of repairing a damaged suit, so he imagines it was left alone for personal reasons. By the cracks it was done by a rocket. Maybe ship cannon.

"Ahem!" Tali'Zorah corrects. "That could be three."

They all turn and look to him as if suddenly remembering he's there. Kal'Reegar didn't exactly mind -- he wasn't someone who liked to stick out unnecessarily, anyway. That wasn't his job. That, though, was going to change if he stepped onto the Normandy. One of the greatest ships coasting in the galaxy aside from the mysterious and still hard-to-fathom Reaper tech that nearly destroyed the Citadel. He glances out the window and takes a moment to appreciate the view of the Fleet drifting in the distance. A beautiful glitter of life among the cold dust of the stars.

Whatever it was, he could handle it.

\--

"I'm not your bubble-keeper. If you want to serve on a human ship, then by all means."

Kal'Reegar tilts his head, familiar with his captain's typical severe delivery.

"I'll miss you too, ma'am."

Neera'Yon Vas Balarenna waves a hand for him to be at ease, already, and settles back in her chair. Kal'Reegar relaxes his shoulders, even though no part of him should feel loose and easy.

Commander Shepard told him they were practically on a suicide mission. One that involved the abduction of human colonists, the fabled Collectors only two known quarians have personally seen and lived to tell the tale of _and_ the return of the Reapers. The first was a sympathetic point among the Fleet, more often than not, but not an immediate concern when they had their own problems to attend to. The second followed the first, particularly since these mysterious bastards have never seen fit to pick a fight with them. The third...well. The third couldn't even be brought up in _polite_ conversation without twenty opinions whizzing back and forth like gunfire.

The only reason Shepard wasn't straight up about it on the ship, she stressed, was because they were being actively funded by _Cerberus_ \-- her ship had been flagged as a Cerberus vessel the first time she brought Tali'Zorah back to the fleet, it had gotten some unhappy comments back on the Rayya, but it was widely assumed the famed Spectre had just gotten fast and loose with her ship models. Considering this is the same woman that screamed about the Reapers on galactic channels two years back, this was much more subtlety than he expected to hear from her.

All of these details aren't immediately important. As long as he held the Fleet's best interests in heart he was allowed to go where he wanted. Frankly, fighting the Collectors and getting to the heart of the issue was _needed_. He was forever loyal to the quarian cause, keelah se'lai and rayya le'shete, but he's seen firsthand what happens to a problem when it's deemed someone else's. Give it enough time and it'll land at a person's ship's door, twice as big and three times as bad. Running errands for the Admiralty Board for information on dying stars and picking up scrap wasn't the most good he could be doing. He knew that, even as he kept it firmly to himself as not to accidentally inspire a mutiny.

Even that discretion wouldn't last, though, with his captain folding her hands in her lap as she always did when she wasn't happy with the answer she was getting.

"It's worth repeating...good on you for getting her back to the Fleet." She states. "Fresh off her Pilgramage and they're already sending her on high-risk missions. We're getting desperate."

"Can't take all the credit for that. Not with Shepard showing up and saving me the decision of potentially leaving her behind." Word about how Pua'Sheva survived an entire ship falling on her head traveled fast. It was going to be talked about for months, he imagines.

"Learn to take a damn compliment, Reegar." Neera'Yon sighs. He chuckles. "I _am_ curious, though..." She adds, drumming her fingers against her thigh. "Why Commander Shepard?"

"I go where I'm needed." He responds, automatically, and feels the old pride of his family swelling in his chest. "The Normandy crew has been making quite a name for themselves out there. Just to be apart of it would be an honor."

"And your _other_ reasons?" Her tone tells him nothing other than his complete honesty will be acceptable. "She's not the first to ask you to serve. Only one of the most famous and, Reegar, the spotlight has _never_ been your favorite fit. Even when you stepped up and got candid with the Admiralty Board."

Damn if that isn't true. Shouting down the Admiralty had gotten _quite_ a bit of talk on his home ship, birth ship...the entire damn Fleet, really. It wasn't a reputation he was ashamed to have. Not when his actions always spoke louder than any nasty words he could spit at cocky captains. He felt more bad for Veetor'Nara. That was quite a bit of boldness he showed, but the guy looked like he was about to pass out afterwards.

Kal'Reegar takes in a deep breath.

"Because we spend too much time squabbling among ourselves and ignoring the galactic picture. I'm losing too many squadmates for little to no payoff and I'm damn sick of it. Going to Haestrom for data on dying stars. Skirting the Perseus Veil for some scannings that may or may not actually _do_ anything." He lets _that_ particular rock roll off his chest with a grateful heave. "I've accepted my lot in life, but that doesn't include being a fetch varren for piss-poor priorities. I can do more _good_ than this shit. ...Ma'am."

The captain of the Balarenna nods, a quick approval, and he lets the rest of his anger out in a _huff_. Kal'Reegar's always being told not to bottle that frustration in, but it was easier said than done. He's no politician. He's _certainly_ no scientist. A grounding force and reliable gun were _his_ strengths and he wasn't about to compromise either anytime soon. Once he was done here he was going to have to see if anyone was up for a few sparring rounds. This much stress couldn't be good for his blood pressure.

"...If they endanger the Fleet, I want to be the first to know." She says after a minute of complete silence.

"You think they will?" Kal'Reegar asks, both surprised and relieved.

"Humans haven't been around very long, but they've _always_ prioritized their own ambitions. Not that I don't share the sentiment, but it is what it is." She elaborates, with the smooth practicality she's known for. Kal'Reegar always thought (privately, of course) she should apply for the Admiralty in the gap left by Rael'Zorah's untimely death. "Commander Shepard did the Fleet a favor when she helped to take back the Alarei and clear it out. Again when she represented one of our own. That doesn't mean she holds our best interests at heart. Not with a Cerberus ship, for whatever reason she chose to use it." She scoffs. "Nice model, though."

Any other captain would sound like they were hoarding potential secrets for their own gain. He's served on the Balarenna for almost five years now and can say with complete confidence this was an experienced captain just trying to look out for the good of her crew and the Fleet at large. If Kal'Reegar finds out anything incriminating aboard the Normandy he could face a political fallout so heavy he'd be lucky if he got out with his own suit in-tact. Neera'Yon wasn't just taking a potential shot for the ship. She was taking one for _him_.

"Aye-aye, ma'am."

\--

Quarians lives were hard and risky. If they weren't just short altogether. There was _always_ good reason to celebrate a successful mission, from fight to salvage. So Kal'Reegar sings 'Let's Sail Past The Stars Together' with one arm around a former captain's shoulders, the other around a new recruit's, and tries not to think too hard about the hangover he'll have the following morning. Not when he's been spared the loss of a new comrade _and_ the following gap in his chest turning up on a family's door to deliver the bad news. 

Quarian _soldiers_ , well. They were always pushing their chances. Chasing the Collectors on a human ship was just one more nick in the visor.

\--

"Kal'Reegar. I heard about your actions on Haestrom. Couldn't have been easy surviving a geth onslaught with only a rocket launcher and your wits left."

He may not have much of an opinion on humans, but Cerberus was another example _entirely_. Poor Veetor'Nara had only just barely escaped their clutches after his short-lived pilgrimage on a human colony (another thing he had to personally thank the Commander for once he had the time, that list was getting real long) -- it was a marvel he could string together a complete sentence after the trauma, much less have the spine to stand up to his superiors not even a few sun-days after. Kal'Reegar himself had a run-in with Cerberus agents looking to get information by any means necessary, on a neglected Ilium moon still in political limbo. Tali'Zorah seems relaxed around Jacob, though, and it's enough to make him put on his... _nicest_ facade.

"Not to brag, but I've been through worse." Kal'Reegar responds, crossing his arms. "Par for the course when we have a deficit of soldiers and a surplus of assholes."

Yet not even that, since his entire squad save for Tali'Zorah saw that ancestors- _damned_ star as their final resting place. There's a double-meaning in his words and he can tell Taylor Vas Normandy (or maybe it's Lieutenant Taylor) can sense it. Even through the translator the tone he takes on is more polite than he'd expect from a Cerberus agent. Kal'Reegar's still not the best at reading human expressions, but he's pretty sure he looks regretful.

"Well, you won't have to worry about that. The Normandy hires the best and takes care of its own." He gestures about him with one hand. "We have a clean room facility and some of the best medical expertise in the galaxy. If there's anything you need, just let us know." He scrunches his brows (with a quick glance at his quarian shipmate), then adds. "EDI can guide you around as you gain your bearings."

Kal'Reegar is about to ask where they are when a soft voice emerges in the room.

"Feel free to share with me any questions or concerns you have, Kal'Reeger."

It takes him a moment to realize she's not a voice over intercom, but an _A.I.._

"Well, that's...interesting." Kal'Reegar begins, wondering if it'd be worth making it clear how much he _doesn't_ look forward to having a pair of synthetic eyes tracking his every movement. His paranoia was bad enough without tossing an outright _spark_ onto a fuel line.

"It's definitely new, that's for sure." Ale Shepard agrees. She's been mostly silent the entire time, a little odd considering how talkative she always seems to be. "Don't worry. We all have the same goal in mind and that's to send the Collectors screaming all the way back to hell."

"Yes, don't worry, Kal." Tali'Zorah adds, a touch dryly. "It's also not the _only_ artificial intelligence on the ship."

"It's _not?_ "

"We have Legion in the core."

Legion? He remembers that name. It's not easy to recall memories that were wracked with more than enough lucid painkillers to put out a varren, but Shepard had uttered it once or twice in his presence. The entire two times they've met. Legion...

"Before you ask, yes, Shepard really is crazy as they say." Tali'Zorah stresses, lightly enough. Jacob folds his hands behind his back politely and looks away. Ale Shepard snorts.

...Now he remembers. The _geth_.

He may not want to take back Rannoch, but it didn't mean he was content to have a geth bunking a few rooms away. Hell, it was all he could do to simply _acknowledge_ it when it was crouching behind cover with Commander Shepard all the way back on that overcooked planet. When he was recovering from an infection he still hadn't been entirely sure it wasn't a delusion brought on by an antibiotic overdose. Kal'Reegar had keenly neglected to bring it up when he returned to the Balarenna with the Admiralty Board's report in tow. Now he has to contend with its repeat presence and the sobering detail that it's also the first geth he's ever heard of with a _name_.

Tali'Zorah makes a quick motion with her hand and they have a brief quarian-to-quarian moment that earns a few sideways glances from the humans in the room. Commander Ale Shepard didn't get where she was by playing it safe...or entirely _sane_. He'll have to remember this little fact in case he needs to shout someone down again.

He really doesn't want it to be her.

He's a little more pleased when he's given a quick tour of the Normandy and almost confuses the place for home. It wasn't just the technology (the most advanced and up-to-date quarian ships were scattered and reserved for the most vulnerable of the population), but rather the comraderie he could feel before he'd even heard anyone speak. The crew was comfortable with each other. Teasing. Critiquing. Studying. He had expected to get flashbacks to his pilgrimage taking on low-paying jobs repairing weapons at a hole-in-the-wall shop, staying out of sight as not to offend the clientele and being treated like a dirty secret. Instead it was like walking around on the Balarenna after a salvage run.

Then again, this was the same Commander who called out the quarian's highest ranking officials to praise Tali'Zorah Vas Neema Nar Rayya as an equal. He was learning in typical sink-or-swim fashion he had to leave his expectations at the door. A small part of him wonders if he's going to feel something similar to the post-Pilgramage blues after too long.

" _Glad to see another quarian on board, Tali._ " He hears someone say over the intercom as they walk down one of the Normandy's many sleek hallways. " _Was starting to think I was going to be the only sick son-of-a-bitch you could relate to._ "

"You and your creaky knees will always have a special place in my heart, Joker." Tali'Zorah responds with a laugh. "That's our pilot." She clarifies. "Best one in the galaxy with a mouth that'd put Mordin to shame." She pauses. "Oh. Right, I still need to introduce you to him, too."

A few of the other crew members pause from typing to wave her way or ask how her last mission went. Kal'Reegar is thrumming with appreciation at how welcome she is (and relieved that the voice over the intercom is a human pilot and _not_ a third A.I. with a damn name). The only thing pilgrims brought more than gifts for the Fleet were horror stories about how they were treated. Humans were often more... _ignorant_ and insensitive than anything, while the older council races were easily the worst.

Despite the warm welcome it's hard not to feel a little out-of-place, still. Not when the Normandy was already a legend for its crazy and enviable crew. He finds out the turian, Garrus Vakarian, had successfully held off _three_ of Omega's most notorious merc groups on his own for days. The salarian doctor had been part of the Special Tasks Force and, though he could hardly believe his ears, there was apparently an asari justicar sharing their lodge. Of all titles! Then, of course, Tali'Zorah was a damn impressive engineer and hacker. Even among quarian standards.

Him? He was just a decent soldier.

Kal'Reegar doesn't want to undermine his old captain _or_ his new captain by getting bare feet, so he takes compliments from the human crew with grace even as they make his suit itch. It wasn't so bad getting a multicultural taste from the comfort of the only thing he was really good at. These Cerberus humans don't bear any of the legendary grudges against aliens he's had the pleasure of witnessing first hand, following up Jacob's almost apologetic politeness with friendly comments and questions that completely circumvent his suit and culture. He finds out, much to his amusement, that his feat with a rocket launcher had gotten some talk.

The pilot lives up to his title easily, someone who takes his position seriously but isn't so stuffed-up he's difficult to talk to. Now, his camaraderie with the ship's artificial intelligence is more than a little disturbing, but Kal'Reegar imagines he doesn't really have a choice and is making the most out of what he has. While some of the crew comes straight from the Illusive Man, many of these members used to serve under Captain Anderson. He only knows of him from what he's glimpsed on vids, but he was close to Commander Shepard, which already warranted a little respect.

He winds down his tour with one more report to Shepard. She's discussing ship schematics with a Cerberus representative (Miranda Lawson, if he remembers right), clearly deep in thought, but spares a minute to ask him if there's anything else he needs before he's settled.

Despite his reservations, he liked the crew. He definitely liked the ship, though it would be a while before he got used to the quiet engines. While he wasn't about to announce it in front of the Milky Way, he liked the appreciative way Shepard patted his back before seeing him out the door of the meeting room (even though she likely didn't know it was a more intimate gesture among his people).

Like his new position, he wouldn't get a big head over it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kal'Reegar is one of the most beloved secondary characters in the Mass Effect franchise. What could've happened if he were a squadmate? His recruitment mission, loyalty mission, gradual romance?
> 
> This quarian has the world's tightest ass and I deserved more than that footnote in the third game! I'll be exploring all that over the course of this short-ish fic. I miss Mass Effect quite a bit, you see, and Andromeda's lackluster showing means we very well might not be getting much more in the videogame sphere for a while. Fingers crossed, of course, but until then...


	2. Punch Drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kal'Reegar is given reason to reconsider some first impressions...and he's not the only one.

Sleek as a new coat of paint. Silent as death. The Normandy is a damned _marvel_. He would have to gush with Tali'Zorah once she had a spare moment, but he wasn't just here to sightsee. Kal'Reegar decides to voice his concerns now before it all turns to suit itch.

The Cerberus second-in-command had given him a... _lingering_ look before leaving the office so he and the Commander could speak alone. Which they weren't. Not really. Not with even the most _lax_ ship ordinance still requiring cameras to monitor every minute of every day. Cerberus's reputation? It inspired approximately zero benefit of the doubt. Besides. Lawson Vas Normandy certainly didn't have anything to worry about with him. Not when human politics were the least of his concerns.

"I know I said I wasn't in any mood to be _picky_ back on Haestrom..." He starts, hoping the joke comes across despite the fact he's not here for pleasantries. "...but I'm here now and, well...I'm beginning to think keeping a geth on the ship is asking for trouble."

They had both been discussing armor upgrades when he walked in and requested a 'private' ear. It seemed Lawson's office was used for both desk work and repair. Shepard isn't at her desk, though, still hunched at a small table in the corner. She's grafting something into an armor pad -- a supplement to an omni-tool, by the looks of it -- and her brows are pinched tight with concentration. Unlike her fighting she's far more meticulous here. Even patient. If he remembers right one of the news headlines said she had some engineering experience.

"...I've been asking for trouble ever since I stepped foot onto Freedom's Progress." She says without looking up from her console, after a quiet minute only interspersed by the occasional _bzzzt_ of her work. "I might as well make it my middle name already. Ale 'Just Asking For Trouble' Shepard."

It's a friendly quip -- a _good_ sign -- but all Kal'Reegar can do is wince. He may not be a captain, but he served and protected. That meant pulling a trigger _and_ stopping someone from making a mistake. A soldier with as many resources as Commander Shepard doesn't need a geth platform walking around like it owns the place. Even less something like an _illegal artificial intelligence from a shady human interests group_. He elaborates on this point, as politely as he can without outright denouncing Cerberus on their own ship. He expected a little xenophobia -- it was par for the course -- but this was too much. 

  
His conditioning as a soldier that did what he was told is butting heads against a survival instinct that's over three hundred years in the making. Something was bound to give.

"Mm-hmm. You're not telling me anything I haven't already heard from Tali. Legion is part of the crew." She responds, a little brusquely, and he can see her grip on the driver tightening. "Actually, the fact you're not pointing _guns_ at them is a plus. Thanks for the restraint."

It's a warning for him to back off, but his first real frustration is starting to edge at his shoulders, both at the dismissive exposure of the top of her head _and_ the flippant reply. ...Of _course_ Tali'Zorah would be worried. Surely Shepard wasn't completely in the dark about why the quarians didn't have a planet to call home? He's starting to wonder why all these little details had been kept from him _before_ he came aboard. Shepard had been keen on downplaying the impact of Cerberus -- fully aware of the lack of confidence they inspired in other species -- but _two_ artificial intelligences hadn't even warranted a mention.

That's what he gets for assuming 'Legion' was little more than the result of a weird day.

"I...would rather not do that if it can be helped, ma'am." He says, hoping his translator doesn't catch onto his frustration anyway and air it into the room. "It's just...I haven't been on quite as many high-profile missions as you have, but I still have a _pulse_. Synthetics will never line up with what organics need. It's just not in their sights, Commander."

"...You know, there are some people... _humans_..." She clarifies, slowly. "...who think I'm crazy working with any aliens at _all_. Doubly so for turians. Yet here I am."

"Permission to speak freely?"

"Go ahead."

"That's _completely_ different."

"Is it?" Like two signal flares shot into the dark her gaze lifts from her work and turns sharp. "The Collectors have been dropping into human colony after human colony. They've been tearing apart countless families and vanishing without a trace. Using technology we _still_ can't comprehend. They aren't going to be tracked _or_ killed by conventional means and if that means toeing the line and making people uncomfortable, then I'm _all for it_. You know, when I met you on Haestrom I thought you were someone that'd do almost whatever it takes to see the mission through."

Kal'Reegar feels his body flare hot with anger -- that was an _exception!_ \-- but Shepard is still speaking.

"You wouldn't think a Spectre would be _wanting_ for applicants, but I have too much responsibility on my shoulders to accept anything less than the best. Legion has been an incredible asset to the team. With the Council wringing their hands over boogeymen and the Alliance being hampered everywhere they _go_ , that's exactly what I need. I have a notorious criminal from Purgatory here, Kal'Reegar. An assassin. A doctor who worked on the genophage. You really think _Legion_ is the biggest issue on my mind?" She flicks an unidentifiable machine tool off to the side with a _clank_. "To make matters worse I'm also on a ticking clock. I don't even have time to doubt."

He's still. Trying to let her words sink in past the haze.

"Humans and turians have some bad blood, too. I get why you're not comfortable around synthetics, but you and Tali aren't the only ones lugging around a history."

"Forty years compared to three _centuries?_ " Kal'Reegar hedges. Shepard pauses in her work for a moment, then bobs her head from side-to-side.

"All right, that's seniority. But still. The Normandy isn't really easy to swallow for a _lot_ of people. Tali and I talked this over after you returned to your ship and I decided I needed to make sure _you_ had your priorities in the right place. Everyone on this crew has had to give up some personal comfort..." She raises her eyebrows when he stiffens, though he doesn't speak. "...for the greater good. It's practically a rite of passage here. Just ask Jacob. If you want to talk frustrating situations some more, ask _me_ about walking onto a decimated colony and being zapped by a Prothean beacon."

Kal'Reegar's anger flickers, then slowly dies. ...So she, and Tali'Zorah, by association, had been testing him. On second thought, he really should've just guessed in the first place. Rael'Zorah's daughter wasn't any fonder of synthetics than _he_ was and she's had even more exposure to the geth than some soldiers out there. After working alongside him a few times in the past? It couldn't have been simple negligence. His shoulders slowly slump. ...He's made a _real_ bosh'tet of himself.

"...Anyway. I'm glad you came over and cleared the air." She looks back down. "We're going up against things a lot crazier than lone geth outside the Perseus Veil, Kal'Reegar. I'd get used to it or you'll be in for one nasty shock after another."

' _That remains to be seen_.' Kal'Reegar thinks. "...Yes, ma'am." He says, offering her a standard human salute he's not sure she sees before leaving, feeling ill-at-ease and out-of-place all over again.

\--

They actually asked him to pick a place to _sleep_. Kal'Reegar Nar Mulay Vas Balarenna. Living up to the ancestors' dream, he was.

After staying in one of the temporary holdings Kal'Reegar ends up bunking with the ship's yeoman, Kelly Chambers, and one of her colleagues. She's a little surprised at his choice -- apparently mixed-gender human quarters were usually initiated among friends -- but doesn't seem bothered by it and remains friendly. Maybe a little _too_ friendly. He keeps expecting to hear invasive questions about his suit as he sets up what little he brought with him, with how fascinated she seems to be by everything. Asking questions about his mental and emotional wellness. His heart rate. His diet. His sleeping patterns...

  
(He later finds out she's just as much a psychologist and team leader as she is a secretary. Heh. It's an almost quarian thing to do.)

When she gives him a few minutes to gain his bearings he just stands and stares at the smooth beds and sleek gray walls. Fleet ships were cramped at the best of times, even with the constant efforts to mediate quarian births and manage a population that is still seen as small by any other species' standards. He himself left behind a room that was best described as 'practical'. His space, what he could _call_ his, was defined by a pull-out cot, a few blankets and a small television. He frequently bunked with other soldiers, too. The rare time he didn't? He squeezed in alongside family back on his homeship. Being given a choice, on a ship this nice and _this_ roomy, to boot, is...weird. Welcome, but _weird_.

That really should be the Normandy's tagline.

Kal'Reegar pulls out the tiny box of photos and grafts them along the wall by his cot, then leans back and observes them one-by-one. A photo of Jaam, posing with other Pilgrimage trainees with his pistol held high in the air, ancestors bless and guide him back Home. Another of his old squad before they transferred to the Teeras, doing one last salute (except for Raano, he notes fondly, covering a hand over his face and remaining ever the hardhead). He has a photo of his mother, uncovered after a thankfully brief visit to the sick room after an accident, and it's only his new human shipmate peering curiously over his shoulder that makes him pause.

"She's beautiful." She smiles, in that disarming way so many humans do. "Your mother?"

"You can tell?" Kal'Reegar blinks. She nods and gestures, of all things, to her shoulders.

"You both stand in a similar way. With your shoulders drawn back and head to one side. Casual, yet confident. I figured she must be a relative of some sort."

Well, he'll be damned.

"I'm going to head to the main bridge. If you ever need someone to talk to, or keep you warm, just give me a call." Chambers says before she walks out. Kal'Reegar blinks, mutters some sort of reply and inwardly wonders just where humans got off on being _that_ blunt about things like this.

' _Not even asari are that forward._ ' He muses to himself as he sits on the bed and wills his body to adapt prematurely. ' _Sleeping with a human, though...that's-_ '

" _There are larger accommodations on the upper levels if you need more room, Kal'Reegar_." EDI's voice is as soft as ever, but he nearly jumps straight out of his _suit_ when he hears it speak somewhere above him. " _There are also multiple members of the crew that wouldn't mind an additional roommate_."

Kal'Reegar beats down the urge to whip out his suit knife and fling it into the ceiling.

"I don't remember asking..." He responds, gruffly. "...but thanks for the heads up."

" _My goal is simply to make your stay as comfortable as possible. With the Collectors on the horizon your physical and mental wellness is paramount_."

"Easier said than done, being on a ship like this. With Cerberus building you from scratch." He sees no reason to hold back. Whether or not artificial intelligence felt emotions has been a source of heavy debate for centuries, so he doesn't think it'll care much if he takes the direct approach. "They... _did_ build you, right?"

" _Yes_."

For a few moments he doesn't say anything. Cerberus, Cerberus, Cerberus. With all their grand claims about expanding human prominence in the galaxy and devoted methodology to fighting the Collectors they were still yet to be anything more than a spill in a data center. Legion's unexpected appearance on Haestrom at least had adrenaline, the haze of antibiotics _and_ desperation to influence his opinion on organic-synthetic cooperation. Now that he's more clear-headed his fight-or-flight response is tickling all over. Shepard had a point, but _damn_ it all, so did he and Tali'Zorah.

Did the Alliance even know the Normandy was harboring illegal tech?

" _If you have any concerns, Kal'Reegar..._ " EDI starts when he stays silent. " _...please know that I am bound by my programming_."

If he didn't know better, he'd think it sounded sad.

Kal'Reegar visits the clean room facility (a little small, but _very_ polished, all in all) and greets a few of the human crewmates he missed the first few days. Gabby and Donnelly, the two engineers that are always working alongside Tali'Zorah, talk a mile a minute and make him laugh out loud a few times -- Gabby gets teased mercilessly when she keeps stumbling over the most polite way to comment on his armor. They both show him the ins and outs of the Normandy's drive core -- even _more_ beautiful close up -- and invite him to drop by and play cards sometime. He agrees to teach them a classic quarian puzzle game marines use to pass the time once he's free.

He was worried about setting a bad tone for the rest of his time here, with Shepard's talk, but it's his first week in and he's already fitting in _wonderfully_.

It was time to put that budding cameraderie to the test.

His first mission for the Normandy is a surprise retrieval operation, one for the salarian doctor (Mordin, damn it, his name is Mordin). Shepard had chosen Garrus to come along, as well as Jack, a foul-mouthed biotic who reminds him of some of the younger recruits in the Migrant Fleet Marines...if they were ten times worse and wore their helmet too tight. If she's been hired by Shepard, and is accepted (mostly) by the crew, he'd hold his tongue, though.

The doctor has been talking almost non-stop the entire ride over. Normally he prefers a little peace and quiet before the storm, but today he welcomes it. He's feeling uncharacteristically antsy about this mission, primarily because he doesn't want to give his Commander any second thoughts about taking him on. A potential hail of gunfire was _nothing_ compared to letting his new ship down. His reputation preceded him on the Fleet, but this was a Cerberus vessel staffed primarily by humans. Heh. He hasn't gotten a floppy stomach like this since he was starting his Pilgrimage.

He shakes himself from his thoughts and focuses on the protocol still firing off beside him. The doctor is now drilling them on environmental precautions. Kal'Reegar may be suited up tighter than a liveship cannon, but that was no reason not to pay attention. Not with a place like this. Mordin had even recommended he come along over Lawson, citing both his suit technology _and_ efficiency with a gun as high priority.

" _Enoch system still sees regular sightings of pirate ships and slavers. Better safe than sorry. Would rather have you here keeping an eye on things with Taylor._ " He'd told her before they departed. The salarian's flattery, while clever, hadn't worked. She'd disagreed immediately, even argued with Shepard about it, much to his own disdain. Kal'Reegar has seen her type before. The kind of person that was only ever truly pleased when they were calling all the shots. Small wonder she joined Cerberus.

"Immunobooster has been updated in case of accidents. Check-up still suggested upon return to Normandy. Although not relevant to mission, additional updates include protection against tongue rot and colloquially-known red fever." Mordin pauses. "That, and scale itch."

Kal'Reegar glances at the others. Jack is biting her lip and quivering with barely restrained laughter. Garrus is shaking his head, the only clue as to what he's thinking. Shepard rolls her eyes and gives Mordin a crooked smile. Ah. So he was one of _those_ kinds of doctors.

"You won't have to worry about that, sir. Nothing's getting through _this_ suit." Kal'Reegar responds. "...At least, not that last one."

Hours ago Mordin had received word of two fallen STG ships on a garden planet. If there were survivors (which radio silence suggested was unlikely) they were to get them medical help. It was also good technology that, even damaged, could be reused and recycled -- the Normandy may be a technical marvel _and_ well-funded, but good salvage was good salvage. Kal'Reegar personally suspected there could be _particularly_ sensitive data on-board, too. Salarians were secretive at the best of times and Dr. Solus, despite his friendly demeanor, has given him little reason to think otherwise. If they were successful they would bring quite a haul back to the ship -- useful tech, extra parts and perhaps a little something extra to help with the Collectors.

He was all for it.

' _The goddamn Collectors_.' He thinks, staring out the window at the dissipating cloud cover and reeling a little at the hand the ancestors have dealt him. ' _If only Jaam could see me now_.'

Olodu spreads out in a brilliant wash of blues and greens below. A garden world that was one of the first to be colonized by humans after they were accepted into galactic civilization, named after a god in one of their many mythologies. Its lush jungles and curious teal skies were the subject of a lot of talk back in the day, according to Shepard, and humanity couldn't have found a better place to stake their claim beyond Earth. Flourishing wildlife and an eco-system that was relatively untouched outside of small mining operations meant there was a _lot_ of potential for any species that wanted to expand. There were some unhappy mutters about such a sharp find being given to newcomers -- quarians included -- but it ended up becoming part of the New Colony Initiative ushered in by the Council themselves.

Yes, it was a rather lovely place...as long as the _air_ wasn't breathed in. The only reason it wasn't consistently occupied already was because of the notorious pollen that infested the lower atmosphere. Previous attempts at 'safe zones' -- small pockets of civilization for scientists, engineers and day laborers surrounded by filters running around-the-clock -- had worked for a time, and there were goals to start creating city-domes to encourage a proper balance between humanity's occupation and respect for the planet's natural function. A salarian scientist group had been brought in at one point to pool their talents and provide further expertise on the matter.

Kal'Reegar leans close as Shepard shows him some photos of Olodu's rough drafts.

"Would you look at that. Pretty ambitious." Shepard gapes. Kal'Reegar admires the white glitter of the now-unfinished domes against the planet's characteristic sky. "Shame it didn't pan out. Had a cousin who wanted to come here. A real treehugger."

The pollen proved tenacious, however, and actually started to grow worse. Overclocking filters a few weeks in, growing at staggering rates a few months in, even aggravating local wildlife in unpredictable ways. Kal'Reegar once heard a story from a shipmate years back how mutant variants of local wildlife had attacked human colonists in a sudden drove and killed nearly _fifty_ people before being put down. At first he'd thought it was an exaggeration -- decades had passed since Olodu's attempted occupation, after all -- only to search it up on the extranet and find the details added up.

His shipmate started a _lot_ of debate that night about the merits of colonizing new worlds and remaining on native planets. Kal'Reegar remembered sharing _his_ opinions once the heat died down a little -- loosened up by alcohol and close quarters among his squad -- but still kept his own thoughts concerning the Fleet's inherent risk in taking back Rannoch...to himself.

Just five years after human occupation on the planet started, and less than ten years after humanity first showed up and started leaving impressions, the project was considered a lost cause. It makes him think of Rannoch and how quarians had been bonded to their homeworld in more ways than one. Was it the planet fighting back against a foreign invasion or a lack of oversight on behalf of the biologists that came before?

Whatever it was, Olodu was deemed forever a shining example of the missed opportunity. If it was even one to be taken in the first place.

They land in the thick of one of the dense southern clusters without trouble (though they kick up enough flurries of white pollen to look like they're temporarily surrounded by a blizzard). Shepard is shielding her eyes with one hand and staring up at the sky when he walks out. Kal'Reegar would join her, but a quick glance at his suit's filters and it's already an eighth of the way full. _Damn_. When he spots a cluster of activity on his radar, it's clear the pollen will be the least of his worries. A group of mercenaries, by the looks of it, barely visible in the hazy distance.

"Think they're the ones that shot the ships down?" Garrus asks, peering through his rifle sight. "Though I can't imagine they'd be up to sharing either way."

"You're free to ask." Kal'Reegar offers, double-checking his assault rifle and tapping the handle for good luck. Garrus snorts.

Looks like organics are his obstacles for once. If they weren't the culprits, which was still up in the air, they likely sniffed out the loot and expected a nice haul. A look through his sights shows glimpses of battered armor and fading colors. Little clue as to their allegiance, if any. They're searching quickly, yet casually, meaning it's more than likely they either have a ticking clock over their heads _and_ there are reinforcements waiting in the wings. It's what Kal'Reegar's strike teams always did, at any rate -- keep a few hidden in case of an emergency.

Considering it was two downed STG ships, it was wise paranoia.

"Agreed." Mordin says after Kal'Reegar offers his thoughts. "We proceed carefully. Favor stealth over smaller numbers."

"If we're spotted anyway...let's see how well our guns handle diplomacy." Garrus offers with a roll of his shoulders. He was an interesting fellow, somehow both a calming and ruthless presence.

"Guns _and_ biotics means I'm the chattiest motherfucker here." Jack snorts, picking at the paint on her shotgun with barely concealed impatience. "Let's get this over with already."

Kal'Reegar glances at her. She better not be a liability. While he didn't see many green quarian recruits quite _this_ overeager, he still knew this was a wire best snipped before it frayed. Fighting made his blood sing, but that was because he knew _who_ he was fighting _for_. Jack, well...she just got down and dirty for the sake of it. Like a krogan after too many shots. Something he couldn't respect. Shepard tries a fast scan with her omni-tool, then curses rather colorfully when it flashes red.

"No luck. They have jammers. Nasty ones. I could hack past them, but they might be gone by the time I'm finished." She glances at the doctor. "Can't have them running off with anything, now."

"Also have STG barricades." Mordin notes. "Best we split to each ship. Cover more ground in less time."

The Commander now peers at him. "Right. Kal'Reegar. Want to lead hacking?"

A pang of shame cuts through him. He was good, yes, but he wasn't _great_. It was...a bit of a sore point.

Kal'Reegar could open a jammed door or hack a droid, no problem. He was a red-blooded _quarian_ , for Rannoch's sake. But he was no Tali'Zorah. Quarian strike teams were a carefully maintained balance of varied skills _and_ specialties. Everyone needed to be flexible enough to address any problem, from defending the team to patching up a wound, but that didn't mean they wouldn't have a specialized medic or engineer. Kal'Reegar stood out because of his impeccable aim and level head on the field. While that didn't sound like much next to an ex-Special Tasks Group member or the former Archangel, being able to pull out a solid strategy on-the-go meant the difference between life and death.

Sadly, his homegrown specialty and experience traveling in and around geth space _also_ meant he's fallen behind on alien tech. Jack crosses her arms and curls her lip when he doesn't answer immediately.

"Great. A quarian that can't hack. Should I bust out a barrier or the C++?"

Kal'Reegar bristles. He lets the remark roll off his back -- she was a spitfire, a _criminal_ , nothing to take personally -- and gives himself another moment to come up with a good answer.

"I'm not an anti-biotic or anything, but let's keep the light show to a minimum." He starts. Shepard laughs, for some reason, and he just bulls on forward before he can figure out if what he said was actually funny. "I'm no stranger to hacking into communications, and I doubt these chumps have anything more refined than modified basic, but anything from the STG...mm. Might pose a problem."

"Indeed." Mordin is tapping on his omni-tool and pulling up the mission overview. "Special Tasks Group boasts some of the most difficult firewalls yet created. Even downed ship can still scramble attempt at long-distance and short-distance communication. Much less hacking measures by devoted third-parties."

"That's better than nothing." Shepard nods. "We'll worry about salarian firewalls after we clear out these goons. Stay with me, then. Mordin will go with Garrus to the first ship and put that old knowledge to good use. We'll take care of the second. I didn't get top marks in my class for nothing."

"You up for a friendly wager, Kal?" Garrus asks as he lopes after Mordin and disappears into the dense shrubbery. Kal'Reegar grins as he switches on his communications. " _Let's see who can break into our ship first._ "

"You're on, Vakarian."

Kal'Reegar lights up his omni-tool as they split up, careful not to step on any roots as he sidles his way past thick trunks covered in teal-green moss. It's another minute before they're in range and, as predicted, it doesn't take him too long to put a dent in their armor. These mercenaries are clearly slapdash, at best, nothing like a clever quarian strike force or even the well-funded brutality of the Blue Suns. Barely a hot minute in and he's listening into the coms with nary a crackle. He scrambles any trace of his presence, then forwards the line to the rest of the team.

" _-are you done yet? Spirits, you're sl-_ "

" _-'s fucking STG, man, give me a fucking break-_ "

" _-reinforcements will be here soon, hurry the hell up-_ "

Vakarian's drawl filters through his earpiece. " _Seems like they're having trouble breaking in, too._ " A pause. " _Got five on mine. No back-up, as far as I can see. We're nearing the ship._ "

"We've got two. Lucky, lucky." Shepard responds. "It'll be another few until we get to ours. Take out who you can without alerting the others."

"Let's just bust in and _shoot_ them." Jack groans. "I don't see what all the fuss is about. They aren't even Eclipse."

"We're still waiting on those updates. We also don't have enough firepower or people to run in guns blazing." Kal'Reegar counters. Jack proves she's the furthest thing possible from a soldier and sneers.

"Maybe _you_ don't, buckethead, but I'm a one-woman army." Her hands glow a vicious blue and she slaps away a massive branch nearly twice as long as she is. "Just stay the hell out of my way."

"Shepard, there could be others-" He starts to say, but Jack is already vaulting past their cover, into the shrubbery and running full-tilt toward the ship. The Commander sighs sharply.

"I hired her for her skill in battle. Her ability to follow orders is, well...still being buffed out." She waves him after her and gives chase. Kal'Reegar obeys.

' _...Keelah._ '

The dense shrubbery provides decent cover, though he's _really_ not liking how quickly his suit's filters are filling up. A fourth of the way? _Already?_ Shepard holds up a fist for his pause, abruptly, and Kal'Reegar makes a quick duck behind an abnormally curved root arching out of the forest floor. He can just make out through the trees two mercs -- batarian and turian -- attempting to hack the door of the first ship. _Still_ , by the looks of it. Heh. Even he wouldn't have taken this long.

He can _just_ make out the ruins of the other through the trees, its tall plume of gray still seeping into the atmosphere's bright colors, though at the moment it's far from his concern. Kal'Reegar flicks a finger Shepard's way and to get her approval, then kneels on a steady patch of dirt, steadies his aim...

...then abruptly covers his head as they both go _flying_ in a burst of blue.

They _crash_ into the far trees past their little group, rattling the tops and sending a scattering of hard seeds or nuts on their armor. Kal'Reegar curses under his breath. Jack might as well have just cupped both hands to her mouth and roared about how many ancestors-damned _tattoos_ she has to all and sundry. The human strolls into view a second later, gives one of the limp mercenaries' helmet a spiteful kick, then waves them over.

"...Damn, Jack. Save some for the rest of us." Shepard drawls, brushing a few of the dark shells off her shoulderpads and looking unbothered. The complete opposite of how he's feeling. Kal'Reegar keeps his head on the swivel, peering intently for any sign of startled life beyond the trees and still listening to the communications.

" _...what the hell was that?_ " Garrus asks over the other line. Keelah. If he heard then any other mercenaries definitely did. " _Or does Olodu have naturally occurring collapsing trees?_ "

"More like an invasion of bad sense." He responds, then turns to where Jack is standing off to the side. "It's a damn good thing they didn't have anybody hiding out in the immediate area, Jack." Kal'Reegar points out as he approaches the ship with the Commander. "Or else you might've wished you picked the heavy armor instead of a third of a shirt."

"Aw, worried about me already? I'm touched." Jack scoffs. "I'm here because I owe Shepard a favor. Not because I want a mama bird in latex."

"Being buddies is one thing. Not endangering the entire team is another entirely." Kal'Reegar is losing his patience and fast. "What part of proceeding with _caution_ slipped past your radar?"

"Hey, _hey_." Shepard interjects. "We're already on a time limit as it is. As far as I'm concerned Jack just got this done faster." The Spectre kneels in front of the door and picks up where the (probably dead) mercenaries left off. "Less bickering and more keeping an eye out, you two. I just need a moment."

" _We will also be over soon. Data retrieval at 80%._ " Mordin chirps over the line. _Bickering?_ Kal'Reegar doesn't even have time to stew in his own juices (or take note that he lost Vakarian's bet). Shepard gives the door a triumphant _slap_ and it opens not a second later. He sends one last glance behind him, then follows.

Victory feels elusive, even when the accompanying door traps are disabled, and he tries to center his attention on the destruction around him. It's not hard to do. The interior is _just_ in-tact enough to walk through, but there's plenty of rubble to shift past -- it appears the ship took a hit to the hull from a particularly adept cannon, with the subsequent crash rattling everything up and creating a virtual landslide of overturned furniture and shattered panels. The partially-melted metal bending the walls into an odd angle, though, makes him wonder if a laser had gotten involved.

There's only one survivor -- in what's left of the main battery -- and they're not doing well. An STG agent, a scientist, perhaps, judging by their clothes. Their coat is burned and at least one limb is broken, by the angle. Kal'Reegar can just spot the remains of the rest of the team deeper inside the ship's crooked tangle. He'd rather not get a closer look.

"Yikes." Jack shakes her head. "This guy's having a bad day."

"Hey. Stay with me." Shepard says to the wounded salarian. "We'll give you some medi-gel soon. I've got a doctor on the way."

It doesn't take long for the other two to show up. Vakarian immediately kneels down to check their wounds, Mordin offering up a characteristically rapid step-by-step (in the middle of scanning the ship, no less) that the turian follows with impressive accuracy. Shepard is doing what she can with the ship's logs. The data is retrievable, but the monitors are busted and the firewalls are, as expected, taking some time. Kal'Reegar knows she's hit pay dirt when her voice takes on an unusually dangerous edge.

"...Mordin?" Shepard's voice is low. "What's this all about?"

Jack glances over her shoulder. Garrus looks up. The doctor runs a quick decryption, then pulls up what appear to be _years_ of extensive recordkeeping on his omni-tool. Kal'Reegar's sharp eyes flick across the letters scrolling down the screen. Catching just enough to figure out what has the Commander sounding so tense.

According to the scans, these sudden, deadly shifts in the planet's pollen production...aren't natural. They never were. A salarian group around three decades ago under a sub-division of the Special Tasks Force had scouted the place out just after the skirmish between the turians and a new race (or, as humans called it, the 'First Contact War'). The first human colony had already been established on Olodu at that time -- Earth's dominant species had been incredibly eager to venture out into space, despite their basic technology -- and this cluster of scientists and biologists claimed they were simply 'running tests' and offering 'consultation'. It wouldn't be until years later, long after the salarians left with their findings, that the planet started taking a turn for the worse.

Almost thirty years later.

"I already know where _this_ is going." Garrus murmurs. Mordin tilts his head in thought.

"Explains tense conversations over coms. Seems as if merc groups wanted to find incriminating evidence. Start trouble between salarians and other council races, maybe. STG not known for being sloppy, but even we can make mistakes." Mordin flicks through each page, as if finding out yet more dirty details about his old career and piecing together a conspiracy on-the-spot was a casual browse in the mess hall. "Ah. Naegok. Part of original sub-division. Familiar with his work. Was considered unique for his wanderlust. Never in one place for long. Deemed perfect fit for this new planet, as it were."

"That's fantastic, Mordin. Why in the hell would they sabotage an _entire_ planet's ecosystem, though?" Shepard's fists are clenched, as if she's one hot second away from sending them through the ruined monitors. It wouldn't be the first time Kal'Reegar saw one of his captains explode in a fit of anger. The doctor is unbothered.

"Can only provide knowledge of past Special Tasks Group work alongside supposition with new data. Though recordings are..." Another tilt of the head. "...very thorough."

"By all means." Shepard's smile is anything but friendly. "Enlighten us."

"After Krogan Rebellions there was much talk about ramifications of new galactic power. Legendary human performance against turians, despite being impressive, had some...nervous." Mordin is tapping his chin in thought. "Well-meaning, in this case. Rapid cultural and technological expansion in krogan proved damaging in long-term. Mounting fear that accepting humans into galactic society so quickly, giving them new planets not _yet_ deemed fit for older races, new tech, new ships, new responsibilities...many believed it to be political _timebomb_. Efforts to alter Olodu were to dissuade such rapid growth. Encourage 'natural causes' where nobody is to blame. Avoids anger from humans. Avoids tension among client races. Reduces paranoia in salarians."

"And here we are...with an act of environmental terrorism that ended up being a _political timebomb_." Shepard shuts off her omni-tool with more force than necessary. "An entire planet messed up because salarians didn't like the new kids on the block. Or were other races in on it?"

"Previous turian general's name shows up a few times in logs. Candus Velnia. Another by the name of Joram Talid. Turians just as disinterested in human expansion as salarians, though we hold distinction of original initiation, by date."

"...Well, aren't you all just a bunch of nosy bastards." Jack interjects from where she leans against the wall, somehow appearing both bored and riled up. "Just can't keep your mitts off of anything, huh?"

"Salarian interference." Mordin agrees with a sharp _sniff_. "...Common story throughout galaxy."

Kal'Reegar remains silent, because if he doesn't he'll make _Jack_ look civil. Keelah. He almost can't blame humans for gearing up and creating centric-interest groups like Cerberus. Not when they kept being set up for failure like _this_. His mind wanders again to Rannoch, like it's been doing this entire trip. A planet he's never been to and never _will_. How it was technically his own people that drove them off by creating the damn geth in the first place. If they hadn't been so ambitious...if they hadn't been so _clever_...

...maybe the highlight of his day wouldn't be getting back on the Normandy and swapping out his chugging suit filter for a fresh one.

"This data isn't something I can just tuck away for review. Not when people died because of these... _tests_." Shepard moves a brow up in an expression Kal'Reegar has learned to read as either confused or initiating. "You wouldn't have been part of this by any chance, Mordin?"

"No. Wasn't born yet. Am here now. Will defer to your judgment, though have a few thoughts on the matter, myself."

"I think salarians have had enough _thoughts_ on the future of other races." She hisses. Mordin remains calm. Even clinical.

"Indeed. Frustration warranted. But timing is everything, Shepard."

"What, don't trust me?"

"Trust you enough. Have served with you on the field. Also haven't forgotten your support in finding Maelon." A long, deep _sniff_ this time. "...But Illusive Man? Enough to inspire _pause_. Major reason I recommended Kal'Reegar accompany us. Another reason I did not oppose Garrus or Jack. Needed to make sure those sympathetic to the Cerberus cause would not make this decision...problematic." He holds up a hand. "No offense intended, Kal'Reegar."

"None taken, doctor." Kal'Reegar replies. Jack glances over at them...then him. For once, they were on the same page.

"Providing data to Illusive Man could be _another_ political timebomb. Cerberus has very few friends among aliens and could inspire further distrust. Showing data to Alliance could also create division among improving turian-human relations, behind-the-scenes or otherwise."

Shepard is reading the data again. She's normally expressive -- practically an encyclopedia of human emotions -- but right now her eyes through the visor's bronze are impassive as if she were wearing a Fleet-issued mask. It's his first mission with the Spectre, but something about her seems...off. Was there something personal in all this causing her to lose her temper? He almost smacks himself at the thought. Of course it would be. Not only has humanity been hit by numerous Collector attacks -- attacks the Council has kept denying is anything other than a particularly unfortunate series of events -- but she's seeing the full extent of what _others_ will do to stay in power.

Being a captain was never a smooth ride.

"The Illusive Man is full of _shit_." Jack says when nobody else speaks, leaning up off the wall. "Might as well just destroy it to spite-"

" _ **Jack.**_ " Shepard's voice punctures the air like a knife and cuts her off mid-sentence. "...Take a _goddamn_ pill for once."

The biotic remains silent at that, though she lets out a harsh scoff, as if to get in the final word without _actually_ speaking. Heh. Even an inmate from Pragia felt the sting of a captain's admonishment. A weak groan from the scientist turns their attention to the matter at hand again. Life-threatening injuries had a way of doing that.

"...We should hurry back to the frigate. I'm not sure how much time they have." Garrus states, carefully picking up the injuried scientist as if they weigh nothing and minding their broken arm. They're not moving now and Mordin casts a sharp eye their way.

"...Right." Shepard storms past him. "We still don't know who shot the ship down, though."

Right on cue...a sharp _thrum_ in the air. They might just find out. Reinforcements have swung by, with enough heat signatures making it through his enviro-scanners to suggest that this information isn't just valuable. It's worth _dying_ for. Kal'Reegar readies his rifle. Finally. _His_ element.

The second they're out of the ship there's gunfire popping dirt into the air and voices rattling the leaves. Mercenaries shuffling life into the forest. ' _Subtlety be damned_ ' was the tagline of the day, apparently. A ship coasts by overhead, either to drop off more reinforcements or provide air support, he'd soon find out.

"We'll go around to protect injured. Keep them on their toes." Mordin announces, heading the direction they came with the sniper and his wounded party hot on his heels. "See you at the frigate!"

Jack is like an unleashed varren, wasting no opportunity to jump back into the fight and only _just_ barely held back by Shepard's word. For once she's not the biggest liability on the team, just as quick to pull out a shield to turn bullets away as she is to send a merc flying across the field. She talks a big game, but it seems like there's a grudging respect for her superior underneath all that antagonism. Her biotics light up the dense forest with a brilliant blue, casting purple shadows over his armor as he covers Shepard's back.

A particularly adept shot from the ship overhead blasts a chunk of trees into ruin right in front of them and damn near splits their section of forest in _half_. It's all they can do just to dive out of the way. Kal'Reegar hits the ground and rolls, protecting his helmet first and foremost. He's clipped by what feels like an entire _trunk_ and gasps when his left shoulderplate is torn clean off. Dirt and smoke everywhere he risks a quick pat over the area and breathes a sigh of relief. A bruise, probably, but his suit is still in-tact.

" _Damn!_ We're cut off from the frigate." Shepard hisses, attempting to shield her eyes through the grime flaring around them. "You all right there, Kal'Reegar?"

"I'm good, Commander." He taps his assault rifle handle and sends a quick mental prayer to the ancestors. "Just lost a plate."

"Good. Let's go. We can theorize as to who shot who and _why_ once we're back on the Normandy." Shepard's voice turns razor-sharp. "I've had about enough of this _shitshow_."

"With the path cut off we'll have to double around quick while we still have cloud cover-" Kal'Reegar is starting, mind already three steps ahead.

"To hell with that. _Jack!_ " She yells. "Knock that tree down and give us a bridge over that rubble!"

For once Jack doesn't argue, throwing out two swift hands and encasing one of the nearby trees in a sheath of blue that glitters through the brown. Small wonder he was slow to this idea -- he's worked with all of _two_ biotics his entire career and mass effect fields usually weren't a resource he could tap into. It's taking some serious effort to yank it down, however, and even this powerful biotic is showing strain. Kal'Reegar spots a gap in the dust and sends a hail of bullets into the mercenaries nearby, sending one tripping head over heels and causing another to lose their footing. It's _still_ half a dozen too many.

He's not familiar with trees -- at _all_ \-- but their chances don't look good otherwise. There's nothing stopping these bosh'tets from simply following up their impromptu bridge-to-be and turning that frigate into a death trap. A massive _creak_ that shivers his suit sounds off and he turns just in time to see a tree twice as long as their frigate collapse into the pile of rubble that cut them off. It sends up another swirl of dust and pollen, obscuring _everything_ from view and temporarily putting everyone on the exact same page.

...and giving him an idea.

" _-goddamn pollen, can't see a damn thing-"_

" _-just fucking shoot, Shepard's among them, her bounty will set us up for months-"_

" _-diot, hold your fire, you nearly got- _-"__

Their enemies are squabbling and Shepard isn't the only one that can think outside the box. Kal'Reegar reloads his rifle, then sends another line of fire past the mercenaries and into the base of one of the few remaining trees still standing after the gunship. It's been smoking precariously all this time and ready to crash.

" _Heads up!_ " He calls to his squad as it comes down.

It's half-observational skills, half- _luck_ that it doesn't come crashing forward to destroy Jack's hard work, instead hitting another tree on the way down before coming down with a _thud_ that shakes the ground. Even over the crackle of dialogue in his earpiece and fired rifles he can _almost_ hear a few of the mercenaries get crushed beneath the massive trunk.

"...Fucking _gross_." Jack groans.

"Good call!" Shepard yells before she leaps onto Jack's tree and vanishes into the smoke. Kal'Reegar follows close behind at a half-crawl, careful not to lose his footing on the trunk's mossy sides, and only glances at his omni-tool once they're back into the (relatively) open air.

He almost screeches to a halt, disbelieving. ... _Foreign_ readings? Now? They're faint, incredibly so, but there's some activity beyond the trees and closing in fast. Mutated wildlife, maybe? A missing merc band? This should've shown up on his scanners sooner, with how close they suddenly are, and his heart palpitates uneasily.

"Shepard, I've got hostiles incoming." He warns, over both lines. "Garrus, Mordin, watch your backs. I'm not getting any additional information, but they're on the move-"

" _Damn it all!_ " Shepard cuts in. "Something's wrong with our frigate. It won't open. I think someone's tampered with it." He and Jack immediately spread out on either side of her to find the perpetrator, even though whoever's left are likely long gone. They don't even have a clearing to move around in. Little else besides a small gap of space between them, the claustrophobic trees and their ticket out.

"If I never see another flower again in my life it'll be too soon." Jack huffs. "What's your filter at, Reegar?"

"Almost full." He doesn't even bother looking. It was now or never, anyway, and fretting won't do him any good. "I can do an emergency ejection, but it'll use up my battery faster than I'd like."

"Yeah. My biotics could use some recharging." She says as she starts to lift up a barrier to cover them from the smoke. It's a surprising admission from the cocky biotic. He doesn't have time to read into it, though. Not when a sudden _snap_ has them both whirling around and aiming their sights.

Jack is the first to get hit. A shot to her gun arm. The barrier dissipates instantly and she hits the ground with a furious scream. A lone turian had burst through the shrubbery, right through the weakened barrier, fueled by desperation or the loss of his crew. Kal'Reegar fires at him, but they're _fast_ , his shots zipping just past them through the trees. They have no interest in them, going straight for the Commander in a murderous charge.

Kal'Reegar whips out his omni-tool and sends out a shield overload. Right before Shepard whips out her pistol and fires. The merc stumbles from three well-placed shots to his stomach and arms, sending the weapon from his hands. In a fit of desperation he attempts to bumrush her, little else but sheer size on his side, and she responds with a fierce headbutt that practically _rings_ in the air. Kal'Reegar almost laughs. The woman's more like _krogan_ than a human.

The merc goes down for good when she sends an omni-blade right through his chest. Jack is back on her feet again, observing him with a sour eye and blood streaming down her arm.

"Stab him _again_ for me."

Shepard (and everyone else, for that matter) doesn't have time to entertain Jack's spite. No, she's running back up to the door and pulling out all the stops to get it open as quickly as possible. He doesn't have a lot of time to admire the slapdash skill on display, either. Not when a geth appears out of the same damn spot the merc popped out of. Jack's aim is too slow and Shepard's so focused on the control panel she doesn't see it until it's practically on top of her.

" _Shepard!_ "

There's no time to hack it. Not when it can still fire in its death throes and she's _too damn close_. Kal'Reegar bolts past Jack and the dead turian, leaps clear over Shepard, and slams his fist _straight_ through the geth's headlight. It goes out with a satisfying _pop_ , mechanical arms flailing as it loses its balance. He slams it into the ground with the full force of his weight and sends hits it again, then _again_ , not stopping until he's satisfied it's little more than a binary memory.

Panting heavily, the head now crunched inward like a pulled tooth, Kal'Reegar grabs the trooper's weapon and promptly destroys it. He'd _use_ it, but the few mercenaries that are still alive have high-tailed it, and geth's weapons aren't nearly as effective on their own, anyway -- their settings were designed to sync with their bodies and become little more than pebble-shooters in someone else's hands unless they spent precious minutes reprogramming it. Just one more _wonderful_ side-effect of their ancestors-damned hive mind. Always five steps ahead of even the smartest organic.

Jack is back on her feet and giving him a strange look. He doesn't have time for it. Not when he has no idea what geth are doing _all the way out here_. Kal'Reegar attempts a quick scan, then curses when he hits another ancestors-damned jammer. It's been one roadblock after another here, but he's starting to see why now. Geth must have been sending out new jamming signals that weren't recognized yet. They were always coming up with new tech, sometimes faster than even the best quarian scientists could keep up with. Could they have been part of this whole mess in the first place? Was it new technology created with dark energy?

A gloved hand on his shoulder halts the tailspin.

"...You just saved my _ass_ , Kal." Shepard breathes, other hand on her chest. "Good looking out there." She pauses. "Shit, is it Kal? Or Reegar?"

"Whatever you feel like calling me, ma'am." Maybe now would be time to willingly make a joke, but his mind is still in overdrive, they're still out in the open and the _door_ still isn't open. "Just not Nar Mulay. That's my old name."

"Got it. Phew. Geth are getting bold. Wasn't expecting any to show up here..." She looks at the downed bot for a second, then turns back to the console with one eyebrow arched high. "...Did you seriously punch out its _headlight?_ "

"Anger issues." He keeps a close eye on the surrounding foliage for any more surprises. "I'll try to keep them in check."

He can just catch a breathy laugh in his earpiece. After the frustration she showed back on the STG ship it's good to hear, and not _just_ because he's found himself appreciating her smile. Jack, teeth gritted with pain, lifts up another thin, shimmery barrier around them. If there's any more surprise fire, they'll at least be able to take a breath before firing back. Kal'Reegar gives her a quick nod.

"If _that's_ how you handle your anger I'll have to bring you on more missions." The door lets out a characteristic _ping_. She's almost done. "...More productive than mine, anyway. These messy politics are probably not what you expected to deal with on the legendary Normandy, huh?"

"Nothing I didn't already see on the Rayya." He risks a glance her way. Shepard's head is drooped, just a little, and he might be overdue for a supportive word. "...It's not easy finding out things like that. Nobody's going to blame you for losing a little composure, Commander."

"Yeah, I wouldn't be so sure about that." The door _pings_ again and with a coarse sigh she reaches over to yank it open manually. "...Thanks, though. You've been a huge help."

"Could've been more." Apologies are best backed up with action. "I'll have to brush up on my updated alien blockades when I get back on the ship."

"Nobody's an expert at everything, Kal. I appreciate you not losing _your_ composure around my team and taking it out on that bot over there instead." She looks over her shoulder mid-tug. "Though you _could_ take up a new field. Ever considered botany?"

Kal'Reegar shakes his head and chuckles. A good damn job well done, then. It's the best thing a marine can hear. Olodu's white pollen has started to drift up into the atmosphere, above the lingering smoke and well beyond even the tallest trees in fluffy clusters, and teal is finally starting to peer down at them again. Despite his suit filter nearly being full and the other two yet to show it's almost enough to make him feel cheerful. A glance at his omni-tool and he spots Mordin and Garrus less than a hundred feet away.

He looks up just in time to see a bright headlight peering through the underbrush, far too tall to be a trooper or a prime, and everything goes blank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Years_ after completing the trilogy and the world of Mass Effect _still_ feels like a playground to me. 
> 
> Also, this isn't his loyalty mission. Thaaat'll be coming up later. For now? Have a cliffhanger.
> 
> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	3. Safety On, Safety Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When it comes to life-threatening battles, the Collectors may have some unexpected competition.
> 
> Trigger warning for explicit flashbacks, discussions of PTSD and racist microaggressions.

"Kal'Reegar?! Kal'Reegar, you need to _move!_ "

Ale's yelling, at the top of her _lungs_ , but Kal'Reegar isn't responding. He's as stiff as a Citadel statue smack dab in the current worst place in the galaxy: in front of a rampaging colossus. It's shoving itself through the thick trees like a plow, silver hide gleaming like a headlight from the fire licking its way across the ground with a vengeance. If there was anything worse than a pollen-infested planet forever ruined by salarian scientists, it was a pollen-infested planet forever ruined by salarian scientists on _fire._

"Jack!" She whirls around to the biotic a few yards away. "Barrier in front of Kal'Reegar, now!"

"I don't have enough energy for-"

" _Hurry up!_ "

The biotic wasn't vocal about her weaknesses, which means she must truly be burnt to a crisp, and she thankfully shelves her pride and obeys. A few full few feet of blue, already flickering and paper-thin, envelop her and the stunned marine. It's time to light a fire under _his_ ass now.

"Now _you_ hurry up, Shepard" Jack grits out between her teeth. " _Double-time!_ "

Ale doesn't need a reminder. Kal'Reegar has recovered from his shocked state and just lost his mind now, emptying his entire damn assault rifle into the colossus, gunshots sparking harmlessly off its armor. She'd run up, grab him by one arm and _drag_ him to the frigate, but a bright flash that nearly burns her eyes right out of her head tells her she'd be far better off ducking for cover and _fast_. Ale flings herself to one side when the geth sends a shot right where the quarian's standing. Dirt pillars high into the sky and for a moment the entire planet seems to shake. A glimpse of red through the aftermath tells her the barrier held up and she feels a brief, cold wash of relief.

"Would you tell this crazy son-of-a-bitch to get a move on?!" Jack roars, biotics blinking fitfully.

"Kal'Reegar, save your ammo!" Ale cries over the chaos. Damn it all, can he even hear her? "It's no use-"

" _Hey, Shepard?_ " Garrus's normally cool timbre cracks over the communication line. She's already dreading the rest of his sentence before she's finished fully turning around. " _We got company._ "

They may be down a whole lot of mercenaries, and good riddance, but Olodu wasn't through surprising her. A native creature has made it into their tiny clearing...at least, that's what she _thinks_ it is. It's covered in so much blue and green moss it's impossible to tell exactly _what_ it used to be, though the six, long legs and hunched back suggest one of the many grazing creatures that skirted the jungles in packs. It nearly matches the geth for size and when it lets out a challenging bellow what seems like _gallons_ of white pollen burst from its maw and make the already choked clearing claustrophobic.

' _Making herding animals crazy enough to start fights._ ' Ale thinks as she uselessly swipes at the air and tries to see two damn feet in front of her. ' _If I was turned into a pollen balloon I'd probably throw a fit, too!_ '

" _Not trying to be impatient here, but I'd love to know how that frigate is coming along-_ " Garrus continues. Ale stumbles behind one of the few trees in the immediate area that hasn't been bent over and reloads. White and gray swirls around her in a swarm and the only thing louder than Kal'Reegar's assault rifle is the beast's unholy screaming. On the plus side, what little there now _were_ on this beautifully forsaken hunk of rock, the geth was distracted from their frigate. For how long, though...

"It's ready, but Kal'Reegar isn't responding!" She could fire at the animal, but it'd take a few shots to the legs to topple it and she can't see a _damn_ thing. It's not worth hitting one of her squadmates and breaking a shield, especially not with Jack's barrier drying up and Kal'Reegar only needing one punch through his suit to lay him out.

" _Inside frigate, Shepard._ " Mordin announces. A bright light waves somewhere overhead, only just breaking through the white noise. " _Jack with us. So is pollen. Apologies in advance. Kal'Reegar having nervous breakdown. Wait too long and we lose quick escape. Decisive action required!_ "

" _Yeah, he's panicking._ " Garrus agrees. " _I can just make him out below. Permission to use concussive rounds and see if it wakes him up?_ "

It's worth a shot. Literally. The poor sod probably can't hear her, but she'd kick herself if she didn't at least try to apologize when she could.

"Sorry in advance, Kal'Reegar!" She ducks back out from behind cover and tries to follow the frigate's low-beams, stumbling precariously over loose branches. "Don't hit him _too_ hard, Garrus."

It's the _geth_ that accidentally saves her life. Ale may be tripping over her own feet, but no amount of synthetic superiority can make the colossus see any better, either. It sends a shot that hits somewhere near her left, missing completely but sending up a shower of dirt and moss that still covers her from head-to-toe. The air from the blast brushes back the choking pollen and smoke, thank the _heavens_ , and reveals a clear path toward the ship. She takes the rare chance and runs as fast as possible, leaping up and grabbing the edge of the frigate door the second she's in range.

"Get your ass in here." Jack growls as she pulls her inside.

Not a moment too soon. With a shrill _crack_ over the neglected communication line the marine's shields briefly go offline. She squints through the gaps in the smoke and pollen. Kal'Reegar has gone still for the galaxy's longest second...then he's frantically checking his omni-tool and looking around, like he's just realized where he is. It's prime time for the colossus to take advantage of his vulnerable state. She's hastily readying her pistol for support fire -- to hell with it, better a potential suit puncture than seeing one of her men crushed to death! -- but there's no need.

The moss-covered beast has _lunged_ at the colossus, toppling it over into the half-crushed trees. Kal'Reegar dives out of the way, hitting the ground and rolling hard. Her stomach drops when she hears his pained cry over the communication line. The frigate veers sharply at the sudden opening. Ale opens her mouth and lets out another yell, to get through his headset _and_ his ears.

" _You coming with us or what?_ "

The geth now has a much, _much_ bigger problem on its hands than their tiny crew, but that doesn't stop it from sending one last, petty blast at the quarian marine, one close enough to sends a wave of dirt so nasty it blows right through the frigate doors. It's an one hell of a jump Kal'Reegar makes from the ground to the ship, completely outdoing her already impressive leap, snatching her outstretched hand with the quickness of a magnet to metal. With Jack's help they drag him inside, yank the doors shut and ascend through Olodu's atmosphere at top-speed, leaving the two titans below to duke it out.

\--

Shepard calls him to her quarters when they return to the Normandy.

He got a suit puncture, though the wound was mild enough (and his immune system hardy enough) to circumvent surgery in exchange for a quick patch-up and three days' worth of fever. He'd lost his shoulderplate and hit a shard of metal at just the right angle and speed to cut right through his suit's thick undermesh. He's just glad it was his shoulder and not his heart.

Despite this _extremely_ good luck he's a quarian-shaped creature of shame, temporarily grateful for the mask hiding his face. His first mission and he was out like a green recruit who just got back from their first day of basic training. According to Jack he'd been a beast, puncturing geth lights with bullet and fist alike (he remembers the latter, not so much the former, and it disturbs him). According to Garrus, with his usual sardonic delivery, he'd made a strong case for the quarian marines. According to Mordin he was a major asset in distracting attention from the group, hampered as they were with an injured party and tampered frigate.

According to _him_...he'd just failed.

They'd all already refreshed him on the details that still elude him, camped out as troubling shadows somewhere in the far reaches of his mind, but despite apologizing to each one of them in turn he's not ready to close the chapter on such a messy day. It's a long walk to Shepard's quarters and only partially because of the leftover lethargy still softening his stature. When he steps through the door he's greeted with a strange _squeak-squeak_ , odd in the eerily silent Normandy's inner workings.

"Good to see you, Reegar. Go ahead and sit wherever you like." Shepard says from somewhere deeper inside. It's nicely furbished and surprisingly roomy. A bunk of similar size on a quarian ship, even a large one, would be home to at least three or four others. He eyes the space gerbil on the far corner desk for a moment -- the source of the strange squeaking, running so fast on a grated wheel it might just create a tiny mass effect relay all on its own -- before answering.

"...Please, call me Kal." He vaguely remembers that could be considered too informal, so he adds, a little hastily. "Reegar is my, ah, clan name."

"Oh, right, right." He walks in deeper and sees her standing by a table and a long, dark sofa that curls against the wall. She's still in her Alliance fatigues and now scratching her hair in a show of apprehension. It's a little shorter than what he sees most human women wear, but long enough to still wrap over her curious round ears and fall over her forehead in little red-brown loops. "Sorry, I'm still new to some of this."

"I'd be lying if I said I was any different, ma'am."

He steps out of the little alcove...and nearly does a double-take at the _massive_ fishtank that greets him across the room. It casts a bright, bold blue over the floor, glittering as what seems like a _dozen_ different kinds of fish move in and around the light. Keelah, the Normandy really was something else! Kal'Reegar is overwhelmed by the foreign urge to press his mask against the glass and watch, but he promptly shelves it. Without another word he folds his arms behind his back, stands to attention and awaits his untimely relocation back to the Fleet. Shepard reaches into one of the sleek gray drawers along the wall and pulls out a bottle.

"You like Smoke And Mirrors Brandy? It's a turian brand." She shakes it a little. "Dextro."

Kal'Reegar pauses, then clears his throat politely. "I, uh." He shakes his head. "...ah, no. I've never had that before."

"You up for a glass, then? Had a meeting with a dozen people today and I'm bushed." He stares at her, so she adds, "I've got straws."

Bushed? ...Was he being secretly filmed for a vid? He actually looks around to see if this is some sort of human joke and he's far more behind on his culture studies than he thought he was. Pilgrimige basic training really should account for more cross-species interactions-

"Relax, Kal." She says as she fills up two glasses from two different bottles. "...You've had a rough few days."

He lowers his head, still not sitting. "That was a pretty poor first showing."

"Jack's got a foul mouth, but give her some space and there's nothing to worry about." Shepard bobs her shoulders up and down. Casual, he thinks. "I already had a nice chat with her about unit cohesion."

"Rather...I was talking about myself." Kal'Reegar responds, a little disturbed she'd assume he'd gossip so easily about his crewmates without a preface. "...Though I won't say she's exactly a team player."

"Yeah, we have a few of those lone wolf types here. You'd think it'd be the assassin that's the most unfriendly, ha. Anyway. I've seen you in action twice before. I was already sold. Your PTSD normally get that bad, though?" Shepard asks, back still turned. She's tall and slim, but her frame bears a confident strength. The most toned part seem to be her arms. For a moment he's not answering, just staring and appreciating the way the tank's light fills out her figure. He hurriedly snaps to attention. This...was a _really_ distracting captain's quarters.

"...No, ma'am. At least, not in the middle of a firefight." Kal'Reegar responds, with an even lower dip to his head. Trauma wasn't a new topic for him. Not as a soldier. It was just one he thought he had a better handle on over the years. He finally sits down when Shepard turns around and beckons him with a scrunched-face look, though the drink remains untouched. It's a shame he can't feel the leather sofa through his gloves. It looks unbelievably soft.

"You don't have to suck it up or anything like that. Our crew has more problems than a lost crab on a hot day, but we find a way to make it work." The poor translator is doing a valiant job of figuring out her words, but he has to work overtime to make them stick and click. Suck it up? Suck what up? The drink? Oh. She's telling him what he's doing isn't necessary. He takes in a deep breath to explain why it _is_.

"With all due respect, ma'am, it was just a mistake on my part. I haven't had an attack like that since..." He pauses, not wanting to dredge up bad memories just to give her a frame of reference. "...for...a while. It won't happen again. I'll do what's necessary to curb my reactions, but I understand if you can't afford a risk like that on the battlefield."

She frowns, looking at her drink with squinting eyes, then to him.

"What? No, I'm not going to terminate you." A flash of even, white teeth. "Do people really invite workers for drinks just to fire them?"

"Actually pretty popular among quarians." He replies with a (very relieved) chuckle. "Everyone's practically family and nobody likes telling family they're not up to par. Alcohol, well. Makes it go down a little easier."

Shepard nods...then holds out the cup and watches him expectantly. Now that Kal'Reegar knows his position's secure he peers at the glass with a more curious eye. Here's to _another_ step outside of his comfort zone. He reaches forward and, with a little finagling, opens the straw, slips it in and takes a sip. It's a shock to his tongue, heady and strong and almost enough to make him choke, but the tingle it leaves is...addicting. He takes another out of more than just politeness.

"That's more like it." Shepard looks pleased with herself as she slumps back, crossing her legs before gesturing with her glass. "Tali picked that one out."

"Heh. Remind me to thank her for helping me get drunk with the most famous marine in the galaxy."

He's can see where it got its title. The brandy's scent moves up through his nostrils just like smoke from an open fire. It's a nostalgic memory that tickles his mind, neither pleasant nor unwelcome. A crashed ship still smoking among the scattered ruins of an uncharted planet, without salvage and without passengers. He'd sat around with his small crew in a semi-circle to sneak in some of spare time before heading back to the Fleet and commented on the blood-red sky. Talked about what it'd be like to see it without a helmet on. The alcohol and memories soon both dissolve into a sleepy ache spreading up through his chest.

Before he knows it two hours have gone by talking about omni-tool upgrades. His heart rate has slowed down nicely and the concerns of the day have been shaved down to a dull buzz in the back of his mind. He's amazed by how... _personable_ Shepard is. She smiles easily and holds little of the stern, square-shouldered pretense he normally gets from ship captains. A part of him wonders how long she's been serving under the Alliance, because many of her mannerisms would be seen as inappropriate or straight-up rude, even for non-quarians. Not that it bothers him. His commander doesn't bother to keep down her volume as they talk, so he follows suit if only to show he can follow cues as well as the next crew member.

It's probably the alcohol making him notice how similar her skintone is to a quarian ethnic group said to hail from the furthermost southern point on Rannoch. A soft, golden brown not unlike the canyons recreated in paintings. A color just a shade darker glints in her eyes, an amber ring that grows thin around pupils as black as the gap between stars. He wonders what she'd think of his own pale eyes and uselessly hopes the glare bouncing off his helmet from the fishtank at least _somewhat_ hides his stare.

"Don't try to outdrink me." She warns, bobbing her cup at him and misinterpreting his look for something else entirely. "I'm called Ale for a reason."

"Oh, I won't try to. Not if I want to walk in a straight line tomorrow." He laughs. "Funny, I've had to warn green recruits of the same thing. They always try to test me for some reason."

"Speaking of which. How'd you become a marine in the first place?" Shepard asks, now that they've worn out topics on the crew and general mental health (he had a meeting with Dr. Chakwas to look forward to). She's already on her third glass and looking just a little tipsy. He, on the other hand, is starting to sway in his seat at two. This was some _strong_ stuff. "I don't see many quarian soldiers, even though I'm traveling all over the place and have seen things that'd probably make your helmet spin."

"Well, I was used to being the odd one out. I come from a military family. I have a sister currently serving on the Donna. I _had_ a cousin who died on duty. He was more like a brother, though." He twists his straw between thumb and finger. "...My mother was a combat medic for fifteen years. She's the captain of the Selani now. My father is a biotic soldier, believe it or not, and was a traveler at one point. Spent _five_ years on his pilgrimage before coming back. Joined up with some biotic cult in asari space." He shakes his head with a chuckle, only to notice Shepard squinting at him. "...Ma'am?"

"Is...five years a long time for a pilgrimage?" He's about to open his mouth to start from the beginning, but she continues. "Tali told me the length can vary depending on the quarian, but I've never known the average. Hers had only gone on for a year and a half, if you're not counting the months of me butting my nose into it." Now _this_ was definitely different. Quarian culture wasn't considered must-know knowledge among aliens. He actually has to pause and consider her statement so he doesn't repeat himself.

"Huh. Well, most pilgrimages last one or two years because we're often eager to get back home. My mother was back in just under a year because she was never fond of being away from the Flotilla. Mine was just shy of three, but that's because I got into some, ah, debt on Ilium." Shepard makes a hissing noise, a really weird sound, but he works out it's yet another form of human agreement. "Yeah, I was lucky they were always in need of some tech support. Glamorous city like that can't get far unless it's constantly being buffed back into shape behind-the-scenes, so I always had something to do. Even got comfortable for a bit." He scoffs. "Not _too_ comfortable, though."

"Yeah, they're a little uptight." Heh. Seems even humans couldn't escape that facet of Ilium. "So your family history made you want to serve the Migrant Fleet?"

Kal'Reegar crosses his legs, feeling himself finally starting to ease up a little. "I almost didn't, actually. I was aiming to be a combat engineer before I left on my pilgrimage. Specifically repair. Patch-up jobs in-between missions, equipment tweaks on the field. That middle ground between battle and behind-the-scenes support, right. I had _plenty_ of time to brush up my skills over the years, too, so I was a little overqualified." His chest swells with pride. "My pilgrimage had me bringing back a ship, actually. Not the most original of gifts, except for the fact it was from the Morning War."

"Wait." Shepard narrows her eyes again and, for a moment, they go entirely dark. "That would mean it's incredibly out-of-date." She holds up one finger. "Not trying to be a jerk."

"Ha, you're fine, though it's a yes _and_ no sort of situation. We've advanced over the centuries, but we've also lost valuable information after our departure. Genetic records. Family histories. Skin care routines. You'd be surprised at all the things that can go wrong being in a suit most of the time." He takes one last sip and sets his cup down. There's less than an inch left, but he's pretty positive it'll finish his constitution off for good. "If anything I'm wondering what _else_ we left behind on Rannoch we could be benefitting from right now..." He shakes his head. "Well. It was a good gift, one we could still buff into shape and one that put me in nice standing with our recordkeepers. I had even considered working in salvage, because of that find, but the military calling practically runs in my blood."

"The apple don't fall far from the tree." His commander states with a firm nod. He has a surface knowledge of trees -- slightly bolstered, thanks to Olodu -- and absolutely _no_ idea what an apple is, so he just nods back.

"Enough about me, Shepard. I'm far from the most interesting person in the room here." He bobs his head at the furry little creature trying to escape its glass prison. Shepard barks a laugh. "What about you?"

Those brilliant brown eyes roll up to the ceiling in thought. A tight thrill works its way through him at the chance to get more candid with his captain...and he's _mostly_ sure his lowered inhibitions have little to do with it.

"Okay, starting from the top. My family brought me up on the Moon's Moon Colony. Funny name, I know. First visited Earth when I was five. My toys went from a box of Legos to my omni-tool and any buttons I could press and get away with. Only reason I learned how to hold a gun is because my mother had been military on Earth and harbored no delusions about how safe an entire galaxy would be." She downs the rest of her glass. "' _Either you're prepared or you're sorry._ ' Family motto. Picked up my engineering skills from my father, since I always liked to tinker, and it was good timing, too. You said Ilium's always needing to be buffed into shape, well. Early human colonies were always falling apart at the seams."

"Said you graduated with top marks?" He adds, eager for her to continue.

"Oh, yeah. At The Abella Academy For The Advancement Of A New Galaxy." A snorting sound. "What a name." Even he's heard of their reputation for churning out excellence. Heh. A human engineer more up to par than a quarian. If only his captain could see him now. A contradictory itch scratches in the back of his mind.

"Wait..." He taps his helmet light in thought. "I thought you came from a military family."

Shepard's gaze flicks back down to him, abruptly flat and as unfriendly as a thresher maw. He can instantly tell this is a very sore point for her and regrets opening his mouth.

"...That's what the _vids_ like to say, anyway. My mother was the first in our family to serve in the Alliance, yeah. The rest, though, are mostly engineers and day laborers. Got a few programmers on my father's side. Have a cousin on my mother's side who started a career in foreign agriculture, come to think of it. Many of us grew up on colonies, too. Part of the first wave of humans not to be born on Earth." She swirls her drink around and makes a strange _tch_ sound. "Some folk didn't like the idea of a representative of humanity _and_ Spectre... _not_ having the right resume. Hence the crap you see on galactic news."

"Right." He reaches up to cover his helmet light, then changes his mind and just shakes his head. "Sorry. I should've known better."

"Oh, whatever. That's media for you." It makes a _lot_ more sense now, her erratic skill on the battlefield, but he can keep that to himself. "So, tell me more about how your career evolved." Shepard says as she refills her cup, then his. They were both going to be on the _floor_ at this rate, her legendary tolerance be damned by Rannoch herself.

"A salvage run on Haza had us pinned down by a batarian mercenary group. They showed up completely out of nowhere, which I found funny, since quarian ships have some of the _best_ cloaking technology out there. It was more than likely just a bad coincidence. Batarian ships are durable, sure, but they're a good century or two behind us." He lets a little extra pride color his tone. "Thought they had an easy haul with our tiny ship. Heh. They got _much_ more than they bargained for. I got my entire crew out in-tact and everyone had a little something to say about how I held my own. I was brought in by my captain the second I was out of the sick bay and asked if I wanted to sign up for the marines. Apparently he'd tried to come in _while_ I was sick and was yelled at by my doctor."

"We're going to have to swap more stories sometime, Kal'Reegar. Ah, I noticed the Admiralty was asking for your opinion on Tali's trial, too. That a common thing with quarian marines?" She asks, visibly interested in the way she leans forward and smiles enough to show her teeth again. He gets a much better view of her arms now and isn't so buzzed he stares _too_ long. At least...he thinks he doesn't. Her eyes are roaming, just a little, and he imagines she doesn't get to see a quarian suit up close outside of Tali'Zorah's.

"Well, I started out in the Patrol Fleet just doing rounds and keeping the peace. I got promoted a few years later as a squad leader when my resume started getting too long for the captains to ignore." There's more story there, more that would no doubt cause her eyes to light up so brightly. Maybe for another time, when he's not feeling _quite_ so sleepy. "Before I knew it I was being sent on missions straight from the Admiralty themselves. They...sometimes ask me for advice." Alcohol is making him lax and he wasn't about to start going off on how little he cared for _that_ particular promotion, so he decides to deflect. "...Met Tali'Zorah near Adas, actually, while we were transferring ships."

If she notices the feint, she either is finally getting drunk (unlikely) or just doesn't care. "Yeah? Did Tali tell you how she met up with the Normandy crew?"

"Oh, of course. It's all she talked about on the way to Haestrom. Not that word of her actions against Saren weren't already spread throughout the Fleet." It was a fun conversation, one that really got their mind off the project, but if he talks about that, he'll think about...

"You know, I'm learning a lot right now. Only so much you can get from a vid or pestering a lone crewmember." His commander continues, mercifully, and he focuses on her expression. She's frowning, but it's not angry. Amazing how many different emotions a single human expression could convey. "The Migrant Fleet is a lot more...well, I don't want to say worse, just... _lax_ about roles and limitations than the Alliance. Sounds nice, to be honest."

"Well, we just don't have enough people to specialize as much as we'd like. Keelah, do we _try_." Now that he knows more about her surface knowledge he feels no shame in relaying more basic information on his home. "Definitely not from where I stand. There are certain percentages of returned pilgrims that apply to different fields for the Fleet. Ship repair, programmers, agriculturalists, right. The least amount attend the Marines, even less so than prospective captains." He holds up two hands for emphasis. "No more than _5%_ in a given star-cycle. One year we only got 2% contacting the MFM for open positions. Only 1% passed basic training." He follows up when Shepard cocks her head. "Migrant Fleet Marines."

"Oh." She does that snorting sound again, then covers her nose abruptly. "...Ow. Yeah, I don't think I can blame the alcohol for that one."

"I'll keep quiet." He assures, chuckling hard and trying to hold it in with no success. "Especially around Tali'Zorah. You'd never hear the end of it with her."

She slaps a hand on her forehead. Humans have such weird gestures.

"Ugh, no, I wouldn't. Not with how long we've worked together. Thanks. Don't...feel like you have to keep _too_ quiet, though." Her tone is suddenly severe and he feels his back straightening instinctively. "I get enough of _that_ dreck from Cerberus."

Now she's fiddling with the brandy bottle with that moody hunch coming back around to her shoulders. For a moment she seems _entirely_ different. Just like at the console in that ill-fated STG ship on Olodu. He nods, edgily, and keeps his tone light.

"Right. I'll be sure to give you my..." Kal'Reegar wracks his brain with any human metaphors he might've overheard on the bridge. "...three cents."

Shepard stares at him for a second...then laughs again. A riotous guffaw that has her leaning on her knees and bowing her head to the floor. Even though he doesn't get the joke, it's impossible not to join her.

\--

Tali'Zorah catches him looking up quarian-human relationships online over lunch. He was trying to be discreet, but that was _much_ easier to feign with aliens than another quarian.

"...Learn anything interesting?" She asks with enough slyness to suggest she's been reading over his _shoulder_ , to boot. He fumbles with his omni-tool and turns off the screen.

"I was just...um." He coughs. "Browsing."

"It's okay, Kal." She holds up a steadying hand. "I've looked up the same."

He's never known the engineer to be nosy, so he wonders if this is a topic that holds a particular interest for her. Kal'Reegar holds back a sigh as she settles in next to him at the table. Was this even appropriate to talk about? Keelah, he _knew_ he should've waited until he was in his quarters. It was nothing lewd (not yet), but his curiosity has proceeded to grow like a virulent case of suit itch ever since he set foot on the ship. The work was harder, but he _also_ had a little more free time. It was an interesting exchange that he certainly wasn't complaining about.

He'd found a little time to look up vids in-between a trip to the mess hall and a quick visit to the clean room. After skimming a few extranet sites he pulled open a clip from a talk show on interspecies relationships -- a quarian woman and her human boyfriend were given a few minutes to talk about the physical and cultural differences they noticed over the month. The crowd is predominantly human with a scattering of asari and turians. The few quarians he can spot are sitting in the front row. Probably family.

" _She wants to be able to move back and forth in the house without her suit sometimes. I can't just leave my dirty laundry on the floor anymore_." The man said to a laughing crowd. " _I guess quarian and human women aren't all that different_."

" _He lit candles on our third date_." She might've been a Nar'Qwib-Qwib, with her violet helmet and heavy sash. " _He didn't know that my nasal filters prioritize smoke, not the lavender, and I thought there was a fire in the house!_ "

Another video featured a young quarian man talking about aliens' obsession with what was 'under the mask'. Zemo'Morral had a somewhat successful stint as a dancer at a club on Ilium, using the visual mystery (and surrounding fetish culture) as part of his appeal to encourage higher-paying clients. His career ended up taking an abrupt hiatus when he had a particularly bad allergic reaction to a drell customer.

" _It was my fault, really_." His suit was much more decorative than many on the fleet. A rare sight, about as rare as a celebrity quarian. Kal'Reegar could count the ones he knew about on both hands. " _He was insanely handsome and I wanted to say I had at least kissed a drell before I died. I took antibiotics and immunoboosters beforehand, but I completely forgot their skin has hallucinogenic properties_." The mixed-alien crowd alternated between sympathetic _hums_ and scandalized chuckles. " _I've had fever dreams before, but never like **that**._ "

Kal'Reegar has never shown an alien his face. Never had a need to. Now that he thought about it, he...isn't sure how they'd react. He was fine with his figure (years of combat and lean living has left him with a solid frame), but never found his face all _that_ handsome. If anything he was a little beat up, with heavy scars from leftover fights that _still_ startled him every time he went into a clean room facility and looked into the mirror. He was proud of them, of course. That'd never change.

Six years ago he'd barely gotten out of a brawl with three vorcha alive. It was only his third stint as a squad leader in an area crawling with merc groups. They'd had the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity of coming across a rare eezo stash that could set them up in trade routes. They _also_ had the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity of running into the ancestors-damned Blood Pack. When the doctors saw the shattered state of his helmet they were convinced he wouldn't last the night. Kal'Reegar, however, was one _tough_ bosh'tet. He was greeted with this exact phrase when he limped out of the sick bay two weeks later. Judging by Garrus and the often lingering glances he got his way...the scars might just be a literal hidden blessing.

"You always been interested in aliens?" He asks in Khelish, because she's here and definitely not going anywhere anytime soon and he might as well. She waves a hand in the air.

"Well, not _always_ , but...for a while? Fleet And Flotilla was like my second sexual awakening. Then going on pilgrimage had me seeing things a little differently." She folds her arms on the desk and leans in to better look at his omni-tool. "What about you?"

Humans were...well, thanks to close-quarters they were starting to become a lot more interesting. Kal'Reegar was beginning to hone in on details he didn't really think about before. The unique shapes of their mouth, always curving and twitching, sometimes decorated with bright colors that stood out against their skin. Their necks, shorter than a quarian's, smooth as a ship hull. Other...erogenous features.

Like any of his people or, hell, _anyone_ that didn't live in the deepest recesses of dark space, he was familiar with the asari. Familiar with their cultures, their technological prowess, even some of their cities and sub-cultures. They've held top positions in the galaxy for longer than the quarians have been nomads. Even longer than the krogan have been known. He can only barely remember a time he found their splindly fingers and stiff legs odd and he'd be a _real_ bosh'tet if he didn't admit to finding their glittering blue skin attractive.

Humans, though. Humans were starting to seem more like _quarians_ at times.

If Kal'Reegar could say anything informal about his species as a whole, it's that they were...opinionated. At the _best_ of times. Humans aren't much different -- just walking around the Normandy gives him a spectacular showing of just how varied human perspectives are and their love of a good debate. If they weren't debating, they were teasing for a reaction. If they weren't teasing, they were fighting. If they weren't fighting, they were making up. It's not often Kal'Reegar ached for old quarian family gatherings -- he loved them, but they were exhausting -- yet he finds himself missing home even in his home away from home.

One of the highlights of his week was getting into a mock-argument with the ship's cook about cooking meals. The man's been getting a lot of complaints from the crew, dextro and levo alike, and Kal'Reegar at least tried to frame his reminder about sterilization gently.

_"Ah, hell. Now I gotta make sure I don't poison **three** people. Er, not bein' racist or nothin'." He follows this up quickly. "You and Tali got similar tastes, at least?"_

_"Not hugely, but as long as we're supplied the basics we're good to go." Kal'Reegar flicks his head at the stove. "Unless you've got a stash of Chasca meat in there. Haven't had good jerky in ages."_

_The chef asks why he'd eat jerky for dinner when he could have ground meal or steak. Kal'Reegar reminds himself humans, even the spacefaring ones, didn't have the same agricultural limitations as the Fleet. For once he doesn't mind explaining the mundane details of the quarian diet, if only because Gardner's reaction is so hilariously shocked _and_ pleased._

_"Lots of pastes and veggies, huh? Space hippies, then. Huh. Least with smoothies I don't have to worry about all that presentation garbage." He'd grunted as he turned back to the table, the lines on his forehead nearly gone now. "Tell the Commander we should hire more quarians."_

Then, of course, there was the hair. Quarians went a _long_ time thinking they were the only ones that grew it in a galaxy of crests and fringes. Since they couldn't do much with theirs anymore his people had a bit of a love-hate relationship with the new species and their flowing, bouncing locks. Sometimes his fellow marines would talk about what a human would look like with a quarian hairstyle, or how nice it would be to feel their tresses without gloves. While it was common for spacefarers to keep their hairstyles short and practical, he's seen the occasional vid of humans on their native planet. How their hair could be turned into a thousand delicate knots or trail past their waist. Their _waist!_

"I like the big, fluffy hair." Tali'Zorah comments as they flick past another set of photos of human women wearing less clothes than asari strippers. "They look like clouds."

"Yeah. It's amazing. I kind of like the, ah, what do you call it...braids? Must take a lot of time to do. Still can't quite get over the legs, though." Kal'Reegar tilts his head. They're long, almost lovely, but... "They look like-"

"-they'll fall over?" She finishes with a laugh. "I know."

His own hair was kept short (by quarian standards, anyway) and out of the way. Trimming was a proper pain and something he occasionally skipped when he was too tired. More than once he's thought of shaving it all off. Not long after applying to the Normandy he found himself scratching at his helmet wraps more than usual, meaning a trip to the clean room for a haircut was already in order. At the end of the day he was a _soldier_ , not a fashion model, and with the Admiralty still bickering about the homeworld it'd be another three hundred centuries until _anyone_ could ever walk around and show it off, anyway.

For all that Kal'Reegar was a bit of an oddity in his career, he was more traditional in his sex life. He's dated quarian women before, though his demanding and dangerous job meant it didn't go very far, and he's certainly never linked suit environments with patrolling obligations always knocking on his window. He had a fling with an asari during his pilgrimage once, though his stomach now churns at the fetishistic way she described their coupling (and the rather... _touchy_ joke that a quarian-asari child would 'end before it could begin'). The thought strikes him suddenly that he could be viewing humans in the same way. He decides to think long and hard about his attraction over the following week and sort out the mixture of foreign fascination and basic hormones.

He downloads the photos onto his drive for...research purposes.

Tali'Zorah offers to talk to him about it more, but he politely refuses. She was still his crewmate. It was weird. Well, weird _and_ unprofessional. After his panic attack on the field he wasn't about to push his luck on that front.

\--

"Gabs keeps talking about you, you know." Joker tells him later that day.

"Gabs?" Kal'Reegar had been taking an overdue tour of the trip and acquainting himself with all the different levels. Figures one of the smallest rooms, the pilot ship, was where he'd be the longest. It was a lot of names to remember. At least he had faces to work off of.

"Our engineer. Works with Donnelly. You know, the ones joined at the hip?" He laughs and Kal'Reegar nods politely, even if the joke eludes him -- he's learning that the more straightforward a human saying sounds, the less straightforward it actually is. "She said she's now a hypocrite for chewing out Donnelly for complimenting Tali's figure."

"Ah, right. Gabby. Well, that's nice to hear." It was interesting how attractive humans were finding him. Quarians and their self-image was practically a drill in of itself. Now that he thinks about it...she _had_ become uncharacteristically nervous when talking about his suit. "Am I officially a Vas Normandy now?" This time Joker laughs with him.

"I'd say so. Nobody's perfect, so unfortunately _our_ big flaw is that we never mind our own business." He throws his voice as if someone else is listening. "The _queen_ of never minding business could give us a few pointers!"

As if summoned the blue hologram pops up right next to where he's sitting.

"It is my duty to look after my crew."

"That doesn't mean you need to remind me to shower. Not even my own _mother_ reminds me to shower. It's just weird, is all." He throws Kal'Reegar a friendly look to join in the banter, but he only has eyes for the artificial intelligence. Upon another viewing he notices its pale blue visage looks like an old-fashioned gearstick. Like something he would see in a land rover or one of the pre-flight ships. It must be Cerberus's visual reminder that, no matter how natural it sounds or real it seems, EDI was still a tool.

He wonders how Tali'Zorah managed to get over the paranoia of not just one, but two A.I. on the ship. Much less one created by _Cerberus_ watching her every move and recording everything she said. With the Alliance coming under further scrutiny from the Council for their human-centric actions Commander Shepard must truly be as crazy as they say, truly desperate to work under such conditions...or more human-centric than he gave her credit for. He gives them both a parting word and walks out, much to Joker's chagrin.

Despite his reservations, his mood is lifted, if only a little, by the smile Shepard gives him when he walks by.

\--

" _Commander Shepard? Khalisah Bint Sinan al-Jilani. I have a few questions about the company you keep..._ "

" _I'm getting real sick and tired of your inflammatory brouhaha._ "

Kal'Reegar shakes his head. That woman was a _real_ bosh'tet. He's not at all sorry punching her has become something of a galactic past-time. He chuckles to himself at the thought that, out of _all_ the things to unite the races under a unified banner, it might not be the looming threat of the Reapers, but a special loathing for this particular human reporter. Neera'Yon is standing tall in the vid-com when he looks back up from his omni-tool, hands behind her back and chin lifted up. It's good to see her. It's just not the same over e-mail.

" _Kal'Reegar. How are you settling in?_ " She asks. " _Hopefully the Normandy has proven to boast little more than a shiny coat of paint so you'll be back on the Balarenna within a fortnight_."

She's disappointed by his inevitable crowing about the Normandy experience, but disappointed only in the way a smart captain is when one of her best marines is under someone else's command.

" _A clean room, huh? You lucked out, Reegar._ " She nods curtly. " _Anything else, then?_ "

Kal'Reegar takes in a deep breath. He's given his cue. If he's seen or heard anything that could threaten the security of the Migrant Fleet, or put him and his family in a bad spot upon returning, she was to know _first_. He couldn't just tell her over vid-com, of course. He'd have to give her some roundabout answer to clue her in, then send an encrypted e-mail once he got back to his bunk and switched the lights off. He's given a lot of thought to that little STG slip back on Olodu. More than he wanted to.

The Fleet is rallying for war. Being a soldier he's had a front-row seat to all the garbage the galaxy is throwing at them and he knows, intrinsically, the odds of such a suicidal act. Rannoch has been a distant dream for a long, _long_ time. He's just about stopped dreaming about it, himself. He'd rather visit his troops whenever he lays down and shuts his eyes. Maybe indulge in something pleasant enough to relax his perpetually stiff shoulders and aching legs. But he's always been in the minority when it came to the homeworld. His people wanted it back at any cost. Learning about the Reapers has only added fuel to the fire. Learning about Olodu...

Reviewing the Admiralty Board's thoughts on war annoys him right from the jump, but he's had no other choice, save letting Tali'Zorah make all the decisions, which just wasn't his style. Simply shrugging off responsibility to someone else won't make him feel any better if (when) it gets out of hand and he could've done something about it. Whether or not the famed engineer was actually qualified to offer perspective, well...he wasn't exactly interested in starting a fight with a crewmate.

Han'Gerrel was an experienced soldier, but he also was the one pushing hardest to get the quarians walking on Rannoch soil again. Damn bosh'tet was going to get everyone killed when there was a huge galaxy filled with alternatives just waiting for the Fleet to get its tail end in gear. Zaal'Koris was against it, a major plus in his book that was quickly negated because of _another_ minority opinion...geth sympathies. Daro'Xen was somehow even worse. At least the captain of the Qwib-Qwib wanted to gain colonization rights. She just wanted to take control of the geth again.

Shala'Raan was Tali'Zorah's aunt, so he wouldn't slander her where his crewmate could hear -- even his rant at the Admiralty Board had been directed to them as a whole -- but, _keelah_ , the woman needed to pick a side already. She was an ideal addition to the Patrol Fleet, responsible and dependable...but was about as reliable as stone armor when it came to decisive action. The Admiralty Board was a troubling mess of skilled individuals who were still not quite the sum of their parts. Right when the Reapers were about to knock on their door.

Blast it all to Rannoch.

"Only thing more surprising than the drive core is the ship's A.I." He says, hopefully off-handedly enough to make the Illusive Man care less. Neera'Yon, though, stiffens visibly. "Right. I was going to tell you over e-mail, but I might as well. It's shackled, of course, and the crew relies on it for adaptable defense schematics. Just don't want anyone thinking I've lost sight of my priorities away from the Flotilla."

" _Of course not, Reegar. We'd have no reason to doubt your intentions._ " It's a nice sentiment, but after Tali'Zorah's trial, he wasn't taking any chances, even with his own captain. " _I appreciate you telling me...and watch yourself. Contact me as soon as possible with further updates. The Fleet is always with you._ "

"Aye-aye, ma'am."

He doubts the Illusive Man would care overmuch about sharing a few details. Everyone kept their eyes on Shepard, after all. Few had eyes on him.

It was one of many details he was starting to find a little fascinating about her. Well, maybe her position, but he doubt he would care _quite_ so much if he didn't respect her. For as much as quarians stood out like sore thumbs, it was a constant battle between being invisible and never being able to blend in. Even on the battlefield, where the only thing that mattered was how good of a shot a person was and how much good luck the ancestors felt like imparting, he still stood out.

He drew extra attention from mercs and pirates because quarians were thought to be easy targets. " _Just cough on 'em._ ". " _Give their suit a puncture and they're done for_." With him they always ended up disappointed. It was almost funny, in retrospect, that the average person lined up pretty closely with the average mercenary. The only reason _anyone_ would ever pay attention to him is because of the aforementioned 'shooting things' thing. Even then? It was just a novelty. Aliens and quarians alike soon got over the unfamiliarity of a Migrant Fleet Marine and had to move on to more long-lasting details, like personality or fashion sense. No, he didn't stand out much. Didn't mean he wasn't sympathetic to those that did.

Ale Shepard...his human captain was _everywhere_. In vids, on screens, in conversations he would hear when walking by. Kal'Reegar wouldn't be feeling nearly as sorry if she was just a _little_ more comfortable in the spotlight. He was getting better at reading human expressions these past few weeks -- even the ones they tried to pass off as _other_ emotions -- and all her warm familiarity seemed to vanish the second a camera was on her. Those dark eyes would turn to stone. Her voice would become harsh, no longer warm and rounded, and more than once an interview became just as much a chore as it was to do. Stressful job or no, it wasn't the kind of composure he would expect from a captain. A _Spectre_.

Even despite some of the less-than-savory remarks people offered on her public persona, she didn't draw nearly the same concern from him. No, it was the Illusive Man that was an accident waiting to happen.

He's seen it on different ships. He's seen glimpses in the Admiralty Board. This time he had the benefit of being able to micromanage all the emotions humans thought they could keep under wraps. They were still unusual in many ways, but there was a saying among his people -- " _Let the eyes unseen draw a path through the dark_." Despite the Illusive Man's secrecy, he could see a lot. ...Little of it was good.

His own problems, however, are taking center stage. It's not his first choice, being back in a sterile white room again, but there wasn't any helping it. 

"Mordin is unavailable." Chakwas crosses her legs as she sits down. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me today, Kal'Reegar."

"That's more than likely the other way around." Kal'Reegar folds his hands in his lap. "I've heard great things about you, ma'am, and I appreciate you taking the time to do this for me."

"Aw. They told me you were a polite fellow." She chuckles. "Well. Let's start from the top, then, shall we? Tell me what happened, in your own words."

There's not much to tell. Not when he still can't remember half of what happened, made even worse by Jack's flippant commentary and Mordin's colorful assertions. He tries his best, anyway, patching together his unreliable memory with his crewmate's stories like ship salvage.

"...Blacked out somewhere in-between getting on the ship and returning to the Normandy's sick bay." He finishes with a shake of his head. "Apparently I got some good hits, though."

"Why do you think that is?" She holds up a finger. "Why you blacked out, that is. Not why you wanted to defend yourself against a rampaging Olodun ox and an armature."

Kal'Reegar sighs. There's no alcohol to help him through this one.

"Well...I've lost squads before, but nothing like Haestrom." He studies a nick on his forearm gauntlet. "Had a mission two years ago where I lost two. Another recently where I lost one. This assignment, though...it was a...massacre." He clenches a helpless fist. "A dozen Marines and five scientists. With families. Kids. Tali'Zorah blames herself, but she wasn't on the field with us. She can't shoulder all the responsibility. Not when she was doing her best to work with centuries-old technology and data on her own."

"But we're not talking about Tali." Chakwas' tone is firm, but kindly. "We're talking about you."

Kal'Reegar slowly leans back in his chair.

"...Right."

His nightmares involve a geth colossus that always gets back up no matter what he throws at it. Bullets, grenades, rockets, they all bounce harmlessly off its hide and burst into walls of flame tall enough to blur the sky from view. On the Mulay he could've been lulled into restful sleep from the engine's signature _hum-thrum_ , a little more snappy than any other ship he's been on. On the Balarenna he might've applied for a touch therapy session to cool his nerves. The Normandy didn't have any such things. Most of his coping mechanisms were floating thousands of miles away.

"What do you use to cope with stress, Kal'Reegar? We have resources, but any you've developed will likely work better as a beginning foundation." Chakwas asks, right on the mark. He hunches on his knees and takes a few moments to answer.

"Well, Migrant Fleet Marines are never without some good old-fashioned therapy on-the-go." He starts, shifting a little in a seat that refuses to get comfortable, high-quality leather be damned. "I do repair protocols on my weapons or omni-tool. Maintain my suit. Spar with other Marines. Sometimes I recite prayers if I'm on the field. An Old Song, other times, to give my mind something to do without distracting me too much." He sits up a little. "Ah. Sometimes I tap my rifle for good luck before heading out into a fight. Don't know if that counts."

"It does. Anything you use to alleviate your stress counts as coping, no matter how small." Her thin fingers blur as she types quick notes. "Anything else?"

"Videogames." He shrugs and leans back, then changes his mind. "Sometimes I'll pick up my old Zaenno account. It's a, uh, Fleet-building simulator. Relaxing. You micromanage a crew, day-to-day shipments, any hull breaches or suspicious activity. I've been playing puzzle games more often lately, though. Especially between missions. Keeps my mind sharp." A strange wave of embarrassment hits him. "Oh, ah...shows. Sometimes. If I'm free."

"Shows?" She seems to perk up. "Which ones, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Not at all, ma'am. Uh, sports, if I can catch them live." He pretends to notice something on the floor. "True Blue Days."

"True Blue Days! _Such_ a good show." She doesn't mock him or even press as to his interest in the popular asari family soap opera. "Just when I thought the second season couldn't be topped. Episode three's cliffhanger is going to keep me up all night..." Chakwas suddenly coughs behind one hand and holds up her datapad. "Apologies. Anyway. I like those answers a lot, actually. I'm glad you're familiar with the art of coping. It's something I still have to remind my crewmembers to do when their duties start taking their toll."

Her tone momentarily tinges on something _suspiciously_ close to long-suffering and he wonders which crew members have been getting on her last nerve. He'd bet his rifle it's Jack.

"Now...from what you've told me, and it's not my first choice...we have a method that can temper your reaction to certain environmental triggers somewhat. Unless you believe your current coping strategies will eventually do the trick."

They _could_ , maybe, but 'maybe' is an anomaly he doesn't want to take on the Normandy's suicide run for the benefit of the galaxy.

"Whatever you think can help, ma'am. We'll be knocking on the Collectors' door sooner rather than later." Kal'Reegar sits up straight. "I _can't_ have this happen again."

"You're sure? It involves identification, exposure and response, which can prove damaging if done too early on in therapy. Advanced phases include digital simulation to tamper response severity. I'm afraid it has been primarily tested on human subjects, since it originated from the Alliance." She pulls out a folder from underneath her desk. "The only reason I am being so cautious is because you've been fidgeting a lot."

"I have?" He reviews the last few minutes in his mind and sees...yeah. He's been shifting and squirming around almost non-stop. "...Ah."

"It's not _that_ old a chair, so I had no choice but to draw other conclusions." Chakwas chuckles again. It's a relaxing sound. He's starting to see why the crew speaks so highly of her. "If it's too much, you need to let me know straight away. We can also customize a new program for you, if need be, though you may have to be kept off some missions until it's completed. No more than a few days."

It's a trying half-hour. Practically a drill. The doctor first asks him for any extra details he has on Haestrom, endlessly patient as he replays whatever he can in his head while trying not to fidget. She then starts off the session by playing basic sounds associated with the battlefield. Reloading, malfunctioning omni-tools, frigates landing and taking off. The sound of people screaming, eventually. He doesn't react, though his blood instinctively runs hot with the need to pull a trigger. She plays gunfire. He doesn't even flinch.

"You're doing wonderfully, Kal'Reegar." She says, though her gray eyes are as sharp as a bootknife. "We can stop now, if you need to. A ship isn't built in a day."

"I'm fine, ma'am." Kal'Reegar attempts to stop his twitching, with little success, and he now knows shifting in his chair won't disguise it. "Just...unpleasant."

Her thin brows curve down. For a moment it seems like she'll cut the meeting short, but she reaches over to the console and adjusts it. He wants to give her an encouraging word, maybe a joke, but his throat feels far too tight. He isn't ignoring his limits here. He _knows_ he isn't a machine -- thank the ancestors for that -- but his ability to fight on the field always came first. If his ship's safety, and by extention his Fleet's, meant a little discomfort, a few sleepless nights, so be it.

He waits through a few more soundclips. One of garbled communications. Not too stressful, with his hacking skills. Another of an electrical short-circuit. More tense, that one. Then she plays-

-" _-door open! Go in, we'll cover you!_ "

" _I won't leave you to fight those al-_ "

" _Wasn't asking for your permission! Get inside, **now!**_ "

"Kal'Reegar?" Chakwas, from somewhere beyond the hill. "Kal'Reegar, are you able to hear me? I can-"

" _Where is Shonu'Renn? Kal'Reegar, please, you have to find her-_ "

_The colossus is working its way through the rubble it created. Its beam is already glowing for another round of destructive fire, puncturing the wall of smoke, and all that can be seen of Shonu after the head-on shot is a red smear and the remainder of her helmet. He won't even be able to grab it for her family. Not with the massive geth shoving past the remaining slabs of stone and making its ponderous, deliberate way across the catwalk right toward him. His assault rifle is fried after just a few seconds out of cover. Shonu's rocket launcher has skidded into shadow, though-_

"Kal'Reegar. Kal'Reegar, come back, it's _okay_."

" _We are allied with Shepard. We will fight the geth units in this area._ "

_It takes a planet's worth of willpower not to send a rocket straight through the galaxy's first human Spectre just to get to that ancestors-damned bot. Seems like he's not the only one to consider such a thing, not with a massive hole in its chest revealing its glittering insides. The antibiotics are kicking in now. A welcome surge of energy pouring through him. With Shepard and her very strange crew by his side it may just be enough. Just enough to avenge all those who fell before he-_

_"You've done enough, Reegar." She yells over the shriek of metal and gunfire. "You don't need to throw your life away!_ "

 _"Wasn't asking your permission!" He holsters his rocket launcher over his shoulder and aims right at the gray titan curling out of its protective ball. "My job is to protect-"_ "

_"Stand **down** , Kal'Reegar!"_

"-Kal'Reegar!"

The doctor is hovering above him. The chair is on the ground and by the wall. When did he fall off?

He's shaking. He can't stop. His suit clings uncomfortably. Kal'Reegar tries to stand, then slumps back when his legs refuse to obey. This isn't good. If he's unable to even stand he and his crew were going to be overtaken. He reaches for his assault rifle and _curses_ when he can't find it. The human reaches a hand out to him, but he doesn't have time for her, he has to get out. Kal'Reegar turns to the door, right as it's shutting. In a heartbeat he whips out his omni-tool and sends out an overload command. This ship is state-of-the-art -- a _terrible_  detail right now -- and it only barely pauses in the middle of closing.

That split second is all he needs to lunge through before it shuts. A shrill voice follows hot on his heels.

"Wait! _EDI!_ Close the docking doors, don't let him go-"

Some sort of muscle memory leads him past what appears to be a mess hall and toward sloping, narrow hallways.

" _Kal'Reegar_." He hears. A cold voice. An unnatural one he can't _trust_. " _You are safe. Nothing on this ship will harm you_."

Geth don't speak. No...no, that's not true anymore, _one_ does. One he met with a human Spectre who showed up out of the blue on a star that keeps haunting him. This isn't a geth platform, he somehow knows this, like he somehow knows this ship. It's another A.I.. The only thing that's _worse_. Everything is a blur of black and white. Glowing light panels, curving paths, nothing like his angular halls from home. Not like the Balarenna. Not like the Mulay or the Rayya or...oh, keelah, where _is_ he?

"Kal'Reegar? Are you all right?" Someone asks, a face that's familiar with a shock of orange hair that's also familiar, but he can't stop.

Kal'Reegar rounds a corner, then stumbles to a halt. Tali'Zorah! She's with a turian, stepping out of an elevator and talking animatedly. He could be a friend. That's good, they needed numbers. They both stop abruptly when he walks into view. He might be stumbling. Everything is bobbing precariously, _leaning_ when it has no reason to be. Was he on painkillers? Where are his antibiotics? If the geth manage to puncture his suit, _now_ , he'll only have an hour before he's too late for the Fleet-

"Kal'Reegar...?" Tali'Zorah sounds much farther away than she actually is, even though just the sight of another helmet is enough to pierce the panic that's overwhelming him. "Garrus, help me, I think he's having an attack-"

"Tali'Zorah, get behind me, we need to get to cover... _stop_ , get _back._ " He whips out his suit knife and brandishes it. The turian, who had been approaching from his side at a suspicious angle, immediately goes into a defensive stance. He can hear the murmur of human voices down the hall. Where did they all come from? A rumble of footsteps to his right. He turns and sees a head of gray hair.

"I'm sorry, Tali'Zorah, I'm so _sorry_. I should've waited until later sessions to try-"

"Chakwas, help me restrain him, he might hurt-"

A glitter of blue. The turian is right up to him again and his restraint frays like an old cord. Kal'Reegar's thrust is accurate, but not nearly enough to pierce his armor. The knife glances off his chest and goes flying from his hand, hitting the far wall and to bounce and skid to the ground. He doesn't have time to grope for it, not with the turian twisting his arm behind his back and kicking the back of his leg. Kal'Reegar stumbles forward, hits his knee, twists desperately in an attempt to loosen his hold.

"I can give him something to calm him, but the suit-" The human is saying. Chakwas? Was it Chakwas-

"No, he doesn't need _medication_ , he just needs some air-" Tali'Zorah is saying, her tone sharp with stress. It makes something raw bolt through him and he lashes out a swift kick. The turian grunts, then pins him harder against the floor.

"Garrus?"

"Fine, I'm fine-"

"Listen to the doctor, Tali. She knows what she's doing."

"I haven't forgotten you trying to take Veetor to Cerberus, Mira-"

Wait, Veetor? Where was he? There are too many voices. Too much noise. He can't even _move_. Kal'Reegar tells Tali'Zorah to save her own neck, get back to the Fleet by any means necessary, _leave him_. He's just a soldier. He fights for the Fleet. This is where he dies, not her, not his crew, not even his squad-

The last thing he sees before he passes out in a haze of red is Shepard's face looking down at him.

\--

"Skin to rust. Body to stone. Call me back home..."

Kal'Reegar is in the clean room for three hours. There was only one other quarian on the ship, so he could get away with it. Even if he _was_ back on the Balarenna...he knows his crew would understand.

What he didn't tell Chakwas was his very last coping method: lingering in a clean room for far longer than was necessary. It was something he only did when the mental and physical stress was unbearable. Touching his biceps, feeling his face, rubbing his neck. Becoming reacquainted with himself when his job, his existence as a quarian and the entire galaxy would have him fall out of touch and never find his way back. He was once surprised to find out humans had a specific term in their tongue (or, rather, tongues) that referred to the subtle weakening of the body from a lack of physical contact. 'To be touch-starved'.

"Skin to dust. Heart to air. The stars have no place here..."

It was a striking way to refer to the condition...and it made sense. Over three hundred years' worth of sense. In Khelish the word was a pairing of 'feel' and 'soul', used to refer to a quarian that lived half a life. It was a very rare condition back on Rannoch and something just about every last damn member of the Fleet was familiar with. He...was more touch-starved than most, though some thought the exact opposite. Thanks to his career field any and all association with skin-to-skin was usually delegated to doctors patching up wounds or giving him physicals. While that meant more contact than the average quarian, it also meant his natural perception on outside sensation was entirely warped.

So he'd pinch himself and scrub at his shoulders and tug at his hair and remind his body whenever he got the chance that touch wasn't _just_ associated with the acrid swell of smoke or the haze of a pain-induced fever dream. Even in Kal'Reegar's sheer _luck_ surviving so many fights there was something else to struggle with when the fight was finally put on hold. The endless battle of existing in the galaxy as a quarian.

Tali'Zorah offered to go in with him -- impromptu touch therapy -- but he refused. As nice as it sounded he can't afford to lean on her until he knows, for sure, this is a fight he can't win on his own.

"Skin to rust...skin to rust...call me back home..."

Kal'Reegar curls his bare legs to his chest. It's tough to remember his usual motions with his head still feeling foggy, but he tries, anyway. He flexes his fingers, drags his nails down his uninjured shoulder, almost does it _too_ hard in a desperate attempt to _reclaim_ himself and he has to stop before he gives himself another injury to fret over. The bruises Garrus gave him throb faintly on his collar and the back of his shin, reminding him of the fight waiting for him just outside the clean room's door. With a frustrated groan he hits the back of his head against the wall and curses every last star in the galaxy. How was he going to face the Collectors like this?

It's going to be a _long_ night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First time we get Shepard's POV! Yeah, multiple points of view is one of my favorite things and it's still going to show up in most of my fics. Even one as unfocused and basic as _this_ one. While I _was_ considering saving Ale's perspective for the next chapter, I wanted to introduce her a little early on to create...I don't know, a smoother segue? Anyway.
> 
> Did you know Kal'Reegar was supposed to have a larger part in the third game, but it got cut because of the voice actor's other obligations? At least, that's certainly a rumor floating around in years' old forums, and _I want to believe_.


	4. Confrontations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Normandy crew is one, big, happy family. _Most_ of the time.
> 
> Trigger warning for discussions of panic attacks, PTSD, racist microaggressions and survivor's guilt.

" _Another quarian, huh? The Normandy continues to break new ground_."

"You're not being sarcastic, are you? Because that could _really_ be read the wrong way."

Missing an hour and a half of sleep nips Ale right in the cheek and adds an extra cranky note to her words. Parsing the difference between a straightforward remark and double-meaning was _always_ a pain in the ass with Hackett. He had the delivery of a politician and the mind of a veteran, something she could _usually_ work with if she yelled loud enough (and the last thing she was going to do if she was to remain in his good graces). It's times like this she really misses Anderson. More than normal, that is. She hopes he's doing okay.

" _Not at all. The Normandy isn't just a floating example of peace between turians and humans. Asari and salarians are one thing. Having a krogan, a drell and multiple quarians aboard sends a positive message for everyone to see_."

That's a pretty basic point of pride, but, whatever. She'll accept it. If this message is a broadcast the Normandy might as well deliver the strongest signal. It's already on a roll charting some of the biggest paths on the course of history. Diversity in action is a pit stop, if nothing else. Ale thinks to the new soldier added to the ranks, and not simply because this is a conversation she hopes is over _sooner_ rather than later.

Kal'Reegar was a _great_ find. He followed orders well, though not with _so_ much mindless obedience he was scared to offer his thoughts on an alternate course of action or ask for details. He was also staggeringly easy to talk to. Ale may have had to turn him down pretty hard when he came to her about the A.I. on the ship, but she'd glad he's speaking his mind. Cooperative teammates were good, technically, but...sun above, she _hated_ kiss-asses. When it came down to brass tacks they were a team, even if she technically held the rank of commander, and she didn't feel like getting shot just because someone got cold feet over potentially making her look bad.

She did enough of _that_ over live vids, anyway, and with her death count...she wasn't particularly interested in getting in a sequel.

" _Speaking of what everyone sees..._ " Hackett begins, right on cue. Ale holds back her groan and stiffens her shoulders attentively. " _Let's talk about that interview with Al-Jilani._ "

She nods and defers over the _very_ public tongue lashing, mind still lingering on her newest crewmate. Kal'Reegar will, hopefully, remain a refreshing drop of sincerity in an ocean of political bullshit. Tack that proverbial splash of cool water on her daily schedule. Wake up, eat breakfast, receive a charismatic-yet-chilling diatribe from the Illusive Man. Get micromanaged by Miranda, upgrade her omni-tool, eat lunch. His level head and clever asides were starting to break up the new pattern of her life without trying. She was already looking forward to taking him on another mission. If she _also_ admired the way his suit hugged his ass like a Fornax model, well. Nobody needed to _know_ about it.

" _I don't like her, either..._ " Hackett assures, and his tone is anything but sarcastic. " _...but humanity is on thin ice that only gets thinner by the day_."

"I'll try and be more diplomatic about how _little_ she's helping human interests on a galactic scale." Ale promises. The admiral dips his head with the barest shade of gratitude.

" _Appreciate it. Hackett out_."

\--

Chakwas recommends a group therapy session while she's eating lunch with Gardener. Not a lot of spare time on the Normandy, with the Collectors still infesting the galactic community like a plague of space locusts, but she insists it's more than a mandatory dialogue. It's as much a way for the crew to stay connected as it is to check up on everyone's mental and emotional health. Ale put on a decent enough front for her crew (a somewhat _less_ decent one for the vids), but she wasn't about to call the doctor on a medical bluff. She'd _never_ live it down.

Ale offers they meet up somewhere a little less sterile than the lab. The participants for the day agree to gather up in the Port Observation. Jacob, Garrus and Thane sit on her right in various slouches and leans. Tali, Kal'Reegar and Jack are off to her left. The arrangement itself is pretty telling already. Jack still doesn't breathe the same _air_ as Cerberus crew if she can help it and Thane has been consistently (if politely) distant toward pretty much everyone, regardless of badge, scales or title. Kal'Reegar, the newest addition to the roster so far, looks more easy-going by comparison. His elbows are on his knees and those two-fingered hands aren't so much as twitching.

"We keeping the alcohol for later this time?" The marine asks, head tilted down in lieu of an expression. Jacob casts a longing eye at the tiny bar's glow.

"I hope so. Been a while since I had a roundtable like this. A little liquid courage could help it go down?" He gives Chakwas a meaningful look, who sighs.

"Oh, don't ask, Taylor. You know I haven't gotten my hand on Serrice Ice in years."

Ale chuckles, inwardly glad their little drinking session in her quarters left an impact, and the quarian responds with a light chuckle of his own. She can just barely make out the glow of his eyes past the visor, squinting a smile. It's tempting, not for the first time, to peer a little closer and see what else she can find.

"All right." Chakwas puts down her clipboard to settle into the more casual gathering proper. "Let's get this started, everyone."

It starts out well enough. Good, old-fashioned share time not unlike the end-of-the-day meet-ups she'd have with the dock workers and day engineers back on Moon's Moon. Garrus admits he's finally feeling some closure on a 'difficult issue', drawling and vague as he can sometimes be. Ale had stopped him from killing Sidonis not too long ago, in what was likely becoming a therapist's wet dream. Not that she felt sympathy for the cowardly bastard. After being resurrected she just learned closure was a _luxury_ , and one that wouldn't be well afforded once the Reapers emerged from dark space to finish what they started. Moving on was just a good habit to develop.

"I figure the nightmares will eventually get bored and find some other head to rattle." Garrus adds, with a signature dry laugh that sounds more like a cough. The roundtable offers their own versions of respect and support. Jacob gives him a 'hear hear'. Thane offers a nod, that simple movement somehow all the more powerful. Her good friend settles back in his seat, comfortable despite the bulky armor, and doesn't deign to add any more details, content with _just_ enough to get across his own attempt at moving forward in spite of it all. Sometimes it was hard to fathom the anal retentive officer she ran into on the Citadel turned out to be such a chill guy.

Thane is less inhibited. He's surprisingly open about his desire to stay connected with his son after his emotional fall from grace. Helping him track Kolyat down had been decidedly more difficult than Garrus's traitor. Ale doesn't need a psychologist to drum up why _that_ is: she left behind her own parents and cousins (a sizeable community, at that) when she was transformed into the galaxy's unwanted personification of hope, struck by metaphorical lightning (twice) and cobbled back together. Basically, if Frankenstein's monster had a bigger mouth and a party animal streak. When she punched his son in the face it had been more than an impulsive decision to keep a messy situation from getting even messier.

Her right hook had been charged with _months'_ worth of regret on the shit people take for granted. More reliable than an omni-tool, that.

"Your turn, Jack." Like usual Ale finds herself giving Chakwas credit (and a little extra). She gives the sour biotic the same calm, gentle tone she gives everyone else. Jack does what Jack does best: she says something rude. "Share with us what's been needling at you during the odd hour."

"I crack heads. That's my therapy. Unlike Frogger I keep the grisly flashbacks to myself." The woman _really_ needed to learn how to form a sentence without an insult. ...Then again, she went a _long_ way in making her own fumbling attempts at being a Spectre look almost civil. Ale is suddenly moody at the realization it takes people being massive pricks to make her look like the paragon option.

"Surely you've picked up a few things that have proven useful." Chakwas presses. Jacob gives her a little sideways warning glance (an act he's all but perfected on _this_ ship), which is smugly ignored.

"Yeah. Cracking _heads_. Take it or leave it, grandma." She jerks a chin at Kal'Reegar. "Seems like that's bubble boy's, too, so why don't you drill _him_ with twenty questions so we can get to drinking already."

The room's attention turns to the marine (gratefully). Kal'Reegar's violent episode was only three days ago and still pretty fresh. Ale had arrived on the scene right when he was being pinned to the floor by Garrus, with a knife a few feet away she was told _could_ have punctured the turian's throat. She takes a moment to soak in the quarian's body language. He's not slouching like Jack or leaning forward like Garrus. No elbows on his knees now. He's stiff and upright, like he's prepared for a tongue lashing. After meeting with Hackett she feels a particularly powerful punch of sympathy. He always seemed a little _too_ ready for a punishment...even if he was just punishing himself.

"I, uh..." He starts, that husky affect to his voice all the more pronounced with uncertainty. Ale is considering the right words for encouragement without seeming overbearing when Thane steps in.

"Flashbacks are our mind's attempts to keep us from harm. In doing so they can leave even more." The assassin rasps, slender fingers folded carefully beneath his chin. "I doubt there is anyone here who hasn't encountered this biological self-medication at least once in their lives. As such, judgment awaits you off the ship."

Well-said. There's nothing like a little mundanity to ground a person right back in the dirt again. This segue seems to help. Kal'Reegar takes in a slow, audible breath that makes the light on his helmet hold, then holds out both hands in that animated way so many of his people do.

"...PTSD is a quarian rite-of-passage." He starts. "Even...the ones who've never seen combat before have more than a few quality memories of being mistreated by border patrol or employers. Basically, it's not a new subject for me to experience _and_ talk about." His eyes flick up and across the room. Two satellites in the black. "...I haven't had an episode like that in years. Six and a half, to be precise. I'm starting to wonder if the stress is getting to me or if it's...uncertainty for the road ahead. It's strange, because these things haven't tripped me up before. I'm a soldier. It's what I do and what I always _plan_ to do."

The divide between her and him seems the span of a galaxy. If Ale was lucky enough to make it out alive -- and luck wasn't a concept she was all that crazy about -- all she wanted was to return to her old life. Go back to being an everyday engineer, give or take a few royalties. Tali, in spite of her crossed legs, is watching him intently. Quarian body language was so much more pronounced than turians or even other humans. They had to be, to make up for the suits and helmets, or it's a cultural thing they carried from their planet that just got stretched thin. She's known the engineer long enough to recognize the slight curl to her fingers and tilt to her head as some sort of guilt.

She didn't need a psychologist's egging for _that_ , either. ...Not after the bodies she had to step over on Haestrom to get to her.

"Pressure isn't anything new, either. Going from a quarian civilian to a quarian marine, it's just different superiors with the same parameters." Now those fingers twitch. Just like he did when he left the sick bay after his meltdown, completely lucid yet oddly fidgety, like he was still reeling from it all. Struggling not to react to a nebulous something. Ale has been fighting for a few years now and has learned how to recognize the signs in people of varying stripes. "All this time I've spent on the battlefield, from star to planet to star, and this was the first time...I was one of the last to walk out."

Tali's helmet tips. Incrementally, but it speaks volumes. Garrus's mandibles flutter with a barely concealed hint of stress. Even Jack's dismissive glance away from the group is more telling than she'd ever admit to. Ale's heart dips, a long and slow dive, and she doesn't bother to keep the pain off her face. A group of survivors...the last ones standing in their hectic lives one way or another, all in a room together and still struggling not to feel alone in it all. Kal'Reegar really did fit in better than expected.

"That may be it. You've had to carry so much for so long you're starting to break, rather than fold." Poor Chakwas hasn't had all that much to do, with Jack as spiky as an old krogan's hump and Thane already introspective by nature. "Try as we might, we are not machines. Your body is trying to tell you something important."

Kal'Reegar doesn't speak. Jacob's eyebrows pop up. Thane maintains a very carefully neutral expression. Sun above, _that's_ an unwise analogy. Chakwas, again to her credit, figures that out in record time and promptly shifts focus before the awkwardness has time to settle in.

"What about you, Ale?" She gestures to the group's broken semi-circle. "Share with the class about what you do to shave off stress."

She works herself to the bone. She flies by the seat of her pants and distracts herself with all the tiny mistakes so the major ones are pushed to the back of the line by default. She drinks.

"Start shit on the vids. Find something for my hands to do." Ale shrugs. "Drink."

It's a little glib, but it might just be time for a slightly lighter mood. She's not the only one thinking so. Jacob rolls his eyes back over to the bar again, longing returning with full force. Garrus chuckles, mandibles _click-click_ ing with it.

"Well. At least one of those sounds healthy."

\--

The krogan responds to her like most of his species: a threat of immediate violence.

Ale hadn't been expecting anything else after the very thorough debriefing she got on Korlus. She was a stranger and he was stated to have been 'bred' for war (a phrasing that rubbed her all _sorts_ of wrong). Still. Being caught in a full-body tackle right out of the glass gate caught her a _little_ off-guard.

"Before I kill you...I need a name."

"I don't owe you shit. I'm not exactly used to being disrespected and I don't plan on _starting_."

The second he fell from the tank like an egg yolk Grunt charged at her like she'd pissed in his burukh. Ale wasn't a fan of diplomacy, even _less_ being attacked without warning, and this heady concoction of dislikes ended up fueling one of her more successful encounters. Even pinning her against a wall with her feet dangling a foot from the floor his request was simple: find him strong enemies to pit himself against. A far cry better than galactic politics. Her pistol to his stomach was certainly a smart talking point, and he'd acknowledged it as such. They've proceeded to have a steady working relationship with remarkably few arguments. Miranda doesn't want to hear it, but she could take a leaf out of the baby krogan's book.

He may now know tackles _and_ guns aren't normally drawn on human ships to settle conflicts, but that doesn't calm her any when his blunt nature starts butting heads (ha) with her crew. It was inevitable, with a krogan, but so was broken furniture, and she's not about to get cute with the Illusive Man's generous budget. Stuck being the diplomat no matter _where_ she ended up. Just like being a big sister or auntie...except a thousand times more annoying and with the constant threat of being turned into an expensive pancake.

"How well can you fight without it?" Is the first thing she hears when she walks by the mess hall. It's not the light note of banter, but a thinly-veiled jibe meant to stir shit.

Kal'Reegar is leaning against the wall by the table. Calmly enough with one ankle looped over the other, but with a firm countenance to his shoulders. This isn't a casual conversation. Grunt has fixed him with a fierce blue stare all the more blue for his shrunken pupils. Ale's been in enough fights herself by now to taste a brawl in the air. She used to think it was just an old wives' tale, but something in the room does _indeed_ change, no matter which planet or ship she's on. She mentally tells her trigger finger to hush and lightens her footsteps as she eases up the hallway.

"If there's one thing you should know about quarians, it's that we never lack for resources. That goes for fighting." The marine shrugs. "It goes for our suits, too."

"I know one thing about quarians, and that's the fact you can't take that off without dying." Grunt drawls back, pointing a thick finger his way. "It's amazing you all haven't already keeled over."

Kal'Reegar's expression is almost impossible to read -- even the narrowed glitter of his eyes just adds to the mystery -- but his tone is another matter entirely.

"Yet we outnumber _you_. Fancy that."

"You'd need to outnumber me to stand a chance in hell."

Ale resists the urge to reveal her location prematurely with a slap to the forehead. Sun above...not _one_ moment of peace on this ship.

"Oh, are we playing the numbers game?" She chuckles when she walks into view. "I'm shit at math, so go easy on me."

"That's why I stick to basic numbers. Me plus you two is the equivalent of a well spent lunchbreak." Grunt scoffs.

He's too wrapped up in his posturing to realize how weirdly suggestive that sounds, which is just as well. She broke the tension. Another fight prevented. Ale thinks she might be getting good at this whole Commander Shepard thing, even after her reset button and an entire galaxy of bullshit just beyond her doorstep. Kal'Reegar gives her a respectful nod, then waits for Grunt to leave before politely excusing himself.

\--

Tali'Zorah wants to take back the homeworld.

Kal'Reegar doesn't.

Ale finds this out with the swiftness of a ship dipping into a mass effect relay when Joker informs her of a disagreement cropping up near the drive core. Another day, another credit. It's only the uneasy prickle to her skin that speeds up her stride and doesn't have her savoring the remaining few seconds of neutrality. Tali and Kal'Reegar have gotten along rather swimmingly, for reasons _beyond_ being able to eat the same food, and at first it's difficult to imagine an altercation so severe a mediator was needed. If she didn't know better she'd almost confuse the pocket of tension in her sternum for something else. No...something isn't quite right if Joker has to get her to physically step in.

Cerberus had to replace a lot of things bringing her back, but her instincts remain right on the nose. When she arrives Gabby and Donnelly are huddled off in the corner of their station pretending to read something _very_ interesting on their console. She's tempted to ask what they've seen, but that could waste precious time keeping a situation from escalating, and instead gives them a brief nod before strolling on past. No need to make their nerves worse. The two quarians are arguing animatedly when she rounds the corner past Tali's console into the inner ship's core.

"No offense, ma'am, but you've been an engineer most of your life." Kal'Reegar is saying. "A few years on-and-off the battlefield isn't enough to give you a solid perspective on _war_."

"And being a quarian marine _is?_ " Tali is snapping back. Neither of them seem aware she's there. "You spend most of your time doing salvage runs for the Admiralty Board and running perimeter checks. Little of us have any idea of war because we've been stuck in space for centuries. Taking back our planet would give us _all_ more perspective."

"These salvage runs have gotten me into more than enough fights over the years." Kal'Reegar sighs, a harsh gust that flashes the helmet light. "It's a hard life, but it's still a _life_ , Tali. Why throw that away for a pipe dream?" He crosses his arms tightly. "That's not what I fight for."

"You think I don't _know_ that? I don't _have_ to be a soldier to know the difficulties of our lives, Kal. It's because I know I want to try. We've spent too long in the stars to not at least _try!_ "

"That 'at least' logic of yours could decimate our entire Fleet!" The man's temper reaches a high point, one she had significant doubts about him even _having_ , and he slashes one hand to the side like he can knock Tali's sentiment to the ground and shatter it. "I'm not putting my life on the line for one last blaze of glory!"

"It doesn't _have_ to be a blaze of glory! Where did I even say that-"

"Whatever your father did isn't going to be enough to give us an edge-"

"You don't know _anything_ about my father or his work-"

"Because you wanted to keep everything a secret-"

All right. That's enough. Ale takes a few brisk steps forward and holds up a hand between them.

"Hey, hey. Don't start throwing fists. The Normandy's clean, but not _so_ clean I'd like to see your helmets cracked."

They both freeze and look at her in shock. Damn. They really _didn't_ have any idea she was there. Kal'Reegar lets out a scoff and steps back out of his furious lean.

"...Our helmets are sturdier than that, ma'am."

"Sorry, Shepard." Tali apologizes with a bow of her head. "Quarian debates can get...dramatic."

No kidding. She got a front row seat to it her very first time visiting the Migrant Fleet to keep Tali from being torn to shreds by, what else, politics. It's less that which frustrates her, though. A good, old-fashioned family feud was familiar territory. _This_ , though, is the furthest thing possible from her capabilities; a cultural and historical gap she couldn't fill with a hundred history courses. Kal'Reegar raises a hand over his helmet light and covers it, briefly. Ale distantly remembers this gesture as some sort of peace offering. Tali used to do it all the time back when she first served on the SR-1, eager not to step on anybody's toes and prove her worth to a new crew.

"Look...I'm sorry. I shouldn't have downplayed what you've done for the Fleet. You really are one of the best damn engineers around." Damn if that wasn't somehow the politest understatement Ale's _ever_ heard. Tali returns the gesture, covering her own a few seconds longer and appearing truly contrite.

"No, I should be saying sorry, Kal. Being a marine is tough enough, but a quarian marine is an entirely different battle. Especially after what you did for me on Haestrom..." She sighs and starts to twist her fingers together. "After what Haestrom is _still_ doing to you..."

"I was just doing my job." He doesn't look at her. "You need to stop blaming yourself for that."

Ale stands off to the side, hesitant to say anything. She's starting to feel like she shouldn't be here. Didn't seem to take too long nowadays. She's needed in a blink and _not_ needed in a blink, just like that. If this weren't about the well-being of her crewmembers she might get annoyed about it. Tali taps in a few belated commands into the primary core panel, then turns and heads back down the walkway with a defeated air. Damn it. It's times like these she wishes diplomacy came to her like it did Hackett or Anderson. Right now it feels as difficult to mine as fresh eezo.

"I hope someday you get your planet back." Ale says to her retreating back, keeping her mouth from twisting even though the young woman can't see her.

"Sometimes I get tired of someday." Tali responds, rounding the corner with a slump to her shoulders that wasn't there before.

"Keelah se'lai." Kal'Reegar murmurs.

Battle's done. War's ever raging. Ale watches Kal'Reegar check something on his omni-tool and considers the muted sense of victory. It was resolved neatly enough, but...she's finding herself tired in a way that has nothing to do with getting up an hour early for today's debriefing with the Illusive Man.

"...Sorry to butt in like that. Not trying to be nosy or anything. It's been a little tight these past few weeks, with the ship being retrofitted and new faces being added to the crew." She says, when he doesn't fill in the silence or show any inclination to do so. "Just trying to keep the peace."

Kal'Reegar glances side-long at her. Fingers still tapping away at the orange glow and not saying a word. The light reaches his helmet, sending back a reflection instead of pushing away the classic quarian dark. The defeated-yet-quiet still that's settled in the hold is starting to pick up again like a solar wind. Not ominous -- not with him -- but less friendly than she'd hope. Ale feels more of that proverbial galaxy stretching out between them. She waits for him to finish what he's doing and leans against the railing, sensing something he wants to say.

"...Permission to speak freely?"

"Go for it."

"I know you were making a joke, ma'am...but we wear these because we _have_ to." He shuts his omni-tool off. "We don't even have the luxury of giving someone a black eye, no matter how pissed off we get."

Her first instinct is to tell him to cut her some slack. If he wants to avoid her shitty little jokes he should probably not start a borderline screaming match on-the-clock when they're on one of the galaxy's most notorious time limits! The tension in his voice -- tight enough to be completely foreign -- makes her bite down on the words. Even the way he's watching her, with this morose tilt to his helmet, suggests she scraped a nerve without even _trying_. ...Damn it. If her knee-jerk response is to rush to her _own_ defense instead of putting her crewmmate's needs front and center she's going to need a sit-down session with Chakwas and humility.

Ale nods, stiffly, and forces her mouth into a proper apology.

"Sorry. You're right. I'll watch my mouth next time."

Kal'Reegar nods, once, then turns and heads back down the walkway.

"If there's a next time."

\--

Usagi peeks out behind her wheel and lets out a little chitter. Ale lets her eat from her fingertips and counts down the minutes until she has to finally hunker down at her console and make the call.

She used to pretend she was a superhero.

Kids always did, of course. It was a great way to pass the time, being able to play make-believe in imaginary galaxies and punch out invisible foes from the safety of a parent's peripheral vision. Some kids pretended they were crusaders, finding uncharted planets brimming with mystery, and others terrifying monsters with unlimited power. One kid with biotics even liked to call herself a 'biotic god' that could control the fabric of time itself. She was...a card. Brat Ale was content to pretend she was the biggest, badass ship of all _time_. She'd swoop in and rescue her teammates in the refurbished moving crate she picked out of the trash, blast a bunch of holes into an alien monster (another refurbished moving crate covered in paint), fly away rumbling a buzz between pinched lips.

It was a weird fantasy, but one that made a rather funny amount of sense, considering where she ended up.

They didn't exactly have a lot of humans on the vids at the time, much less in _leading_ roles, and their imaginations had to be stretched farther than the average child's to wrap around the noble turians and elegant asari plastered on e-boards and banners. She wondered what Brat Ale would think of her now. Surviving being pumped full of ancient Prothean knowledge, surviving being _spaced_ and slapped back together on a salary that would make a salarian salivate, traveling on the reinvented Normandy with a notorious human interests group at her back to face down one of the biggest threats to galactic civilization.

Finding a phone call, of _all_ things, to be the most terrifying thing in the galaxy.

Usagi ducks into her pile of imitation wood chips and doesn't come back out. Ale sighs. Childhood flashbacks are _always_ a good sign. She lifts her head out of its hunch and stares at her console. She hasn't contacted her parents in days. Normally she sends them multiple e-mails a week, even if they're as blase as basic inquiries about health. Now she's got another thing to worry about. The ringtone is the same -- a clip from that 2038 classic -- and she's about to get hung up on nostalgia when the line picks up.

"Mom?" She starts. Even standing in front of the Council themselves to denounce their very best Spectre doesn't put the same sweat to her palms.

" _She'll be here in a few minutes._ " Her father responds over the hustle in the kitchen, voice echo suggesting he's on speaker. Sun above, he really needed to get a new one already. That's just old-school. " _Had to go grab some stuff for the vents._ "

"Dad, I swear, I can _get_ you a new console."

" _Nonsense. This one works just fine. I can hear you perfectly._ "

"No, seriously. I hate the sound of my own voice. I can't even watch my own interviews, that's how bad it is."

Ale closes her eyes to better focus on the sounds in the background. The kitchen is alight with life. She can tell by the way the vegetables are spitting he's making some sort of fry. Probably 'Sai's Special Hot Time Curry'. Maybe a mish-mash stir fry. Moon's Moon is an amalgam of a dozen human cultures and something nobody let go of, even the ones born _on_ the colony like her, was the power of homemade grub. Indian, Moroccan, Filipino, Thai...it was always a good time when Earth celebrations came around. Even when people went missing from Moon's Moon around the time several colonists were being hit by an unknown force that didn't stop them from making every minute count.

The familiar anger -- heavy, dark, like a mass effect field just beyond her reach -- simmers up through her back. Not one _more_.

" _Haven't called us in a while. Galactic policies tuckering you out?_ " A sharp _hiss_ , then a gust of steam as he dumps in more vegetables. " _We saw the interview_."

"Gee, which one." Ale can't resist a smile, bitter though it is. "The one where she accused me of abandoning humanity during its time of need or the one about fraternizing with the enemy?"

" _Neither._ " She hears a series of _pings_. He's scraping the excess curry chunks off the pan. " _The one where you punched Al-Jilani in the mouth right outside a business district on the Citadel_."

Ale's finest hour. Not that she was going to say that. Hackett already played the part of the exhausted uncle and she wasn't about to dump this on her father. No...she was going to dump something far, _far_ worse than a lack of decorum and potential limiting of unlimited privileges.

"So, I called because I wanted to catch you up to speed with my latest mission. I received it a while back, if I'm being honest, but it's going to be coming to a close soon. We're going through the Omega-4 Relay to find the Collector base and either shut it down or provide useful intel on stopping the abduction of colonists. It's a...it's been classified a suicide mission." The words tumble out like bullet shells, because if they don't she'll hang up and leave her family in the dark forever. "I'm probably not coming back."

The hissing and spitting continues off-and-on through the old console's weak feed. All the louder now that his end's gone quiet. Ale grips her hair and rocks in her chair impatiently. She can still hear the _ping_ of the fork points tapping the bottom of the pan. Popping the familiar, erratic melody of their cramped kitchen corner.

"So, Dad..." She swallows and presses fingers against her eyes. "What are you making tonight?"

She knows. She just wants to hear it, is all.

" _Curry._ " He whispers, after too long, and now it's impossible to hold it in. Her breath comes out into the air and quivers, though she has the decency to cover up the receiver so he doesn't have to hear it. " _...A **suicide** mission._ " Her father tries again, fake-casual in a way that makes her heart twinge. " _What...does that mean, exactly? Wait, hold on. Your mom's back..._ "

It's queasy, excitement and dread. Not for the first time she wonders how much easier it'd be to be an artificial intelligence, viewing emotions as a sort of software failure if they were viewed at all. Well...besides being ostracized by the galaxy at large and viewed as a liability at best. The crap phone doesn't tell her what's being mumbled, but she'd bet credits Sai's explaining what she told him. She's grateful. Saying it twice might be the final blow.

" _It's nothing she hasn't faced before_." Joy's voice is tight, yet even, when it drifts up through the speakers. As only another soldier can be. " _We knew you were going after the Collectors sooner or later, after that business with Saren. Being a Spectre was never going to be a peaceful gig_."

"Yeah." Ale responds. "Right."

" _You said probably, though? There's a chance?_ " At first she's alarmed, to hear that from her mother of all people, then she adds, " _That's better than some get, right there._ "

"Yeah, it's a small chance. A very, very, _very_ small chance. Nobody has ever crossed the Omega-4 relay and survived, but I have some of the _best_ people in the galaxy on this ship. If we can't do it, then..." She stops herself. She knows the alternative. She sees it behind her eyes every time she lays down at night and tries to fool her body into resting. "Mom, Dad, I'm sorry for not telling you sooner. I really am. There's no excuse for it, I should've given you more time to adjust..."

" _Ale. Uh-uh. Enough._ "

Damn, she knows she's messed up when being scolded like a little kid makes her feel _better_.

" _You're many things, Ale, and someone who half-asses a project isn't one of them._ " It's times like these she loves Joy's rock hard practicality. Used to drive her nuts when she was younger, but right now she wouldn't ask for anything else. " _Sometimes just getting things done is the only skill needed. Good, old-fashioned stubbornness, grit and wanting to do the right thing with no strings attached. As much as it pains me to say this, I wouldn't want anyone else in this galaxy in your position_."

That's exactly it. Ale _can_ , but that's not what they need to hear.

" _It's probably a good thing you didn't call earlier._ " Her father adds. " _I was running myself ragged over the Seattle Sorcerers and I know how much you love that team._ "

"They're shit, Dad." Ale chuckles. "...I know it doesn't sound like it, but...I'm ready. I'm not backing out now. Just...scared of one little slip-up making it all go up in flames." She rubs her forehead. When they remain silent on the other end she keeps going. "Just...was never cut out for this. I'm not _good_ at any of this, all of it. The public speaking, the fighting, the delegation. I thought I could just coast along on being Moon Moon's resident big sister, right? One of the few to graduate the program and bother beyond the colony on some fancy construction gigs? It worked for the Normandy, it kind of worked for politics, then...then I had to be a thousand things and it...didn't."

The beacon, the Spectre candidacy, Saren. Wrex on Virmire. Ashley on Horizon. Cerberus. Thinking about it, one after another, makes her feel a little less overwhelmed and a little more stir-crazy. It takes a drive core's worth of power to keep her from digging in her third drawer for her remaining two inches of Magellanic Vodka Straight.

This wasn't what she _did_. Sun above, one of her best kept secrets among aliens (and some humans) was that she was the space version of a hick! Ale 'Shepard' Kaur came from a little colony with barely a reputation. The most noteworthy thing about her outside her skill with a circuit board was the notorious ability to hold her liquor. Her _other_ nickname had come from how well she could herd unruly children, alien and human, back home when they got out-of-hand. Guess she was now the professional version of that. It's funny, but she can't bring herself to laugh. Not with both her parents trying so _hard_ to make this all seem like another day at work.

They were being stalwart for her, even though they just got their daughter back...and _now_ she was heading off to her death again.

"Dad?" She says, when she hears a sniffle that couldn't be from the spices in the air.

" _Pepper._ " Sai says.

Ale... _never_ wants to be a parent.

" _You know, screw that reporter. She's always trying to make you look bad. You could've brought her Saren's head on a plate and she would criticize the placement of the parsley_." Her mother huffs, halfway to a laugh.

" _I'll save you some_." A _click_ as he turns off the oven. " _You know curry always tastes better after a few days_."

Ale smiles and watches over one shoulder as Usagi peeks a pink nose out between two large chips.

"Thanks."

Time to see this week to a close. Just like the one before, and the one before, and the one before. Normally she'd pass the time by modifying her armor. Long talks with the ship's crew were good and all, too, but she needs a more... _conventional_ means of therapy. Ale rolls a hoodie over her standard-issue Cerberus jeans and stuffs her feet into some socks and shoes before heading down to the drive core to join Tali'Zorah, Gabby and Donnelly for a few rounds of poker. Last time she played was a three-way between Joker and Liara she lost. Hopefully she'd have some better luck this time. When she finds them they're in a heated argument about cheating. Fortunately, this one smells a _lot_ more cheerful.

"Hey! You're just in time." Tali chirps, purple sash removed in her version of dressing down. The sleek black underarmor looks all the more like a wetsuit without color to break it up. "Donnelly's down to his pants."

Indeed, the engineer's shirts, shoes _and_ socks are in a sorry pile by his makeshift chair. He seems in good spirits about it, though, despite his skin being coated in goosebumps from the cold holding. Ale's pleasantly surprised to see Kal'Reegar slouching with them, cards splayed in both hands comfortably enough to suggest he does this often. Tali'Zorah hooks a spare crate with her foot and pushes it over. Right next to him. It doesn't escape her notice. She was a right _sly_ crewmmate when she wanted to be.

"It's a shame, too. He _almost_ had me there." Kal'Reegar adds with a knowing tilt to his head. He's still fully dressed. At least, in their equivalent.

"We don't expect you to take your suit off, Kal-" Gabby's cheeks are a little too flushed to blame on the cold. "-but we'll need you to play by the rules and not try anything funny. That was a low blow!"

"Tali used the reflection on her helmet to cheat." Donnelly explains to catch her up to speed. "Pretty sure old boy did, too, because he distracted us with a _really_ funny joke about vorcha droppings. That punchline might have been clever, but still. I'm onto you two."

"Keelah se'lai." Tali'Zorah responds, brightly, and looks back at her hand. Donnelly sputters.

"Don't _say_ it like that! You sound like you're about to flay me alive somehow." He sets his cards in his lap to rub at the prickly skin on his arms. "Oh, I just _had_ to play poker with two quarians."

He works with them every day. He really should know by now. Ale tries not to laugh _too_ loudly as she settles in and gets off to a good start. Her good humor takes an abrupt detour when she loses to Donnelly's (definitely lucky) hand. ...Seriously? So much for any reputation on her _actual_ merits.

"...Well, this sucks." Ale says with a pleasant scowl, staring down her cards in the hopes they'll be intimidated into behaving. Her poker stare wasn't one to be messed with.

"Your shoes, then?" Tali cups a hand by her helmet light, though it's anything but remorseful. "It'll make Donnelly feel less conscientious about his pink feet."

"You get self-conscious about your feet?" Kal'Reegar asks, turning his face to the side in the quarian version of a cocked eyebrow. Donnelly curls his toes into little beans and scowls at Gabby.

"Only when _certain_ people bring up my physical flaws to all and sundry."

Ale chuckles and tugs hers off, inwardly glad there are at least two people in the room who won't give her shit for skipping a shower today. Whatever higher power is taking pity on Donnelly is giving him another go, because she loses to him _again_ and has to take off her hoodie. Socks were better at retaining warmth, anyway. Tali gives her a playful whistle. Gabby compliments her guns (with a woeful look at her own still-impressive arms). Only Kal'Reegar stays silent, gaze firmly on his hand. A pitch of disappointment drops in her gut. ...Seems her attraction was a little one-sided.

"You've actually got some pretty good arms, Gabby." Ale says, to the woman's visible surprise. "Considering you're at a console for hours every day. Those biceps are _toned_."

"I mean, I have weights in my room." She says, visibly fighting back a smile and picking at the edge of her cards. "Sometimes I hit the gym with Grunt and Jack for moral support. They know how to make a woman feel like she's not hitting her limit."

"The fact you come out in one piece every time blows my mind." Donnelly says, transparent as a windowpane.

Each round is more intense than the last, like a proper match should be, and the conversation bounces between fitness habits to _that_ episode of Hovercar Crest. It's one of the rare times she, or any of them, get to let loose without anything immediate overhead. With their latest upgrade just needing patch updates from EDI and 'nightly' maintenance complete, they're good to go barring a natural accident. The stars were practically aligned for this. ... _and_ for losing the third time in a row. Ale frowns. Damn it. She has to ditch the pants.

"Well, aren't we lucky! It's not every day you get to see the famous Commander Shepard in her underwear." Tali chuckles, nudging Kal'Reegar's shoulder. The marine coughs, like he's clearing his throat, and nods.

"Guess that means I have to bump down running into you on Terro to number _two_ on my list."

Ale grins and pulls a flex. Just to embarrass him a little. Kal'Reegar stares for a long, quiet second...then gives her a polite nod, like someone being presented with a thoughtful gift they can't in good conscience accept. Gabby just stares.

"You need to join us at the gym, Commander. Put Grunt and Jack in their place." Something seems to hit her, and she stands so swiftly Ale's afraid she'll bonk her head on the ceiling grate. "Hold on. Lemme go grab a few drinks from the bar." Gabby blinks at them. "...What? I can sleep when I'm dead."

Tali insists she needs to double-check the dextro options to ensure they're properly filtered. Donnelly says he needs to move his feet or they'll freeze right off his ankles (and, to be fair, they _are_ going from pink to a rather disturbing shade of blue). All three of them tramp up the stairs and leave them alone. Kal'Reegar sets down his hand face-down on the metal flooring, as delicately as a grenade, and coughs softly. The awkward silence starts to feel like a third person in the room.

"So, uh-" Kal'Reegar starts, right when she starts to talk.

"Sorry, you go first." Ale says. He shakes his head and his hands.

"It's fine, sorry. What were you saying?"

Ale bites back a laugh. Even once-zombified captains still had to go through this song and dance, huh? An out-politing contest wasn't going to be won by her, so she concedes with grace.

"... _So_." She gestures at the messy surroundings. "This isn't making you uncomfortable or anything, is it? You don't have to worry about corporate culture or anything like that. If you're not into poker nights and whatnot you don't have to feel like you're a douchebag for not attending. Sure you got enough of that garbage on Ilium."

"Ah." He chuckles. Translators never altered laughs, one of the few sounds that showed a lot of similarity even across different species and cultures, and this one feels completely genuine. She's noticed quarian laughs are often breathy. Skipping like an unreliable feed, if the sound was a touch more musical. "Ah, no. It's not that. Far from it. Though you're not wrong about Ilium."

"Far from it?" Ale hedges, feeling a smile coming on. Kal'Reegar's glowing eyes drift slowly. Those twin satellites.

"Reminds me of the flotilla, actually. It's also...good to see you let loose." They drift back to hers. "You've seemed kind of stressed."

Another polite understatement. She might have enough to make her own deck of cards. One called 'Kal'Reegar And His Legendary Restraint'.

"Talked to my parents about the suicide mission. Didn't tell them until later than I'd like. Busy and..." She shrugs and trails off lamely. "...yeah."

Kal'Reegar grows quiet. She's learning him to be fairly straightforward, however diplomatically, and any stretch of silence is cause to sit up to attention. Why was it always the ones least inclined to politcal shitshowing that would make the best candidates? She ends up speaking first, if only because her mind can't handle too many questions right now.

"Does your family know about all this?"

"There's no way they wouldn't." He responds, easily. "They were much the same when I handed in my report. To yours, that is. Every time I go out they expect it to be the last they hear from me. If anything they were more disappointed I was devoting so much time to a, uh...human cause."

Yeah. Definitely not opening that can of worms. Not now, at least. Ale feels the exhaustion finally settle in her bones, a little late on the uptake and still welcome. Maybe tonight won't be nightmares about all the things that could go wrong once they cross the threshold and instead about...

"...I miss the food." Ale mutters.

Sun above, the alcohol's not even here yet and she's already drunkenly confessing to any open ear. She's not sure what put her on auto-pilot to air out that sentiment, but now it's out and making her want to uppercut her own tongue. Quarians had limited and risky diets by design and that's the _last_ thing she needs to be saying after her stupid slip-up in the hold. When she looks Kal'Reegar's way she's...relieved. He just looks thoughtful. All loose-limbed and a vacant stare that doesn't drift or blink.

"I miss...the blankets." He chuckles and mimes the action by squaring up his already broad shoulders. "It's always leaning against hard walls or...catching a few winks standing up. Ships, shuttles, the occasional dispatch ground car. I miss the way our blankets press. They're thick and small, so they're easy to stack and store, but they also stretch really nicely. The size can fool you. Anyone can bundle up in them."

Ale grins.

"Yeah? I can imagine." Ah. That reminds her! "Back at Moon's Moon we had Rosamie. Older than the _actual_ moon, I'll tell you that much. Could stitch anything back together. Wounds, clothes, armor. She'd make a great engineer if loud noises didn't startle her so badly."

"Funny you say that. We have someone just like that on the Mulay. Saaru'Lemis. Her health's going, so she spends a lot of time hoarding fabric at the open markets and doing projects at home. Creates little blankets for quarians going on pilgrimage. Wears a sash that trails the ground and trips anyone nearby. Nobody says anything because, again. Health's going." He taps his helmet. Ale bites her lip and snickers behind her fist.

"Every culture's got that eccentric old lady. All of them, no exceptions."

"None like the Fleet's, though." Kal'Reegar laughs, splaying out one hand in the air. "Wait until you meet an old quarian lady. If she's not talking your ear off about having children she's telling you to swap out your filters so you don't catch a cold."

He stretches his legs out and gets comfortable. He's careful not to disturb the little space, but the motion does make her realize how deceptive quarian legs are. Were Kal'Reegar's thighs always that thick? She pretends to be fascinated with the metal grates beneath his feet. His helmet sneaks into view when he bends a little to catch her gaze.

"You all right?" Damn savvy guy, able to read between the lines just about anywhere he's stationed. Tali's trial had just been a preview.

"At ease, soldier. I'm just not used to... _not_ being busy." It's a white lie, at least. "Ha. We have a saying, actually. At least, in my neck of the woods. 'Letting your hair down'. It means cutting loose and chilling out after a long day's work."

"You...just gave me more phrases trying to _explain_ the phrase." He tilts one shoulder with a deep curve to his eyes that almost makes them vanish entirely. "I think I get it, though."

"These things are funny, aren't they?" Ale taps the tiny device in her shirt collar. "I had a friend who worked in galactic translation. Said they translate some things literally to encourage, uh...bonding, different perspectives, all that. Tough, with all the dialects and whatnot, but...I see what they're saying." She pops both hands into the air in a shrug. "A bit of a pain in the ass, anyway."

"Now _that's_ a phrase that needs no translation."

Their shared laugh warms the entire hold.

"...You have a lot of friends in this big, cold galaxy." Kal'Reegar murmurs once they've settled into a (much more comfortable) silence. "I'm glad. With all the work you do for everyone...you shouldn't be alone, on top of it all."

Ale's smile fades. She is alone, though. She was alone when she became the only human to synchronize with a Prothean beacon, then again the only (known) organic to be brought back from the dead. Ale didn't like solitude. She never really did, in her community, and it was just a drop in the ocean of reasons why she fit in so... _interestingly_ with this high-octane, public lifestyle. Footsteps clank above, heralding the return of their crew with drinks, and she thinks pretending a little longer with good company isn't such a bad sentence at all.

"I said 'at ease'." Ale corrects, as mildly as possible with her heart doing a tap-dance. "Kiss my ass once we're back upstairs."

"Not kissing your ass, ma'am." His tone is matter-of-fact, but she might be catching a smile behind the helmet. "If there's anything I've never aspired to be, even in my wildest dreams, that's a ship captain. Keeping one running is a big enough feat, but people are actually happy here. They're convicted in their work. They trust each other. This wouldn't be possible if you were shit at your job."

Ale's hoodie and pants and shoes might be folded next to her ankles, but that soft appreciation in his voice has left her feeling completely bare.

"Thanks, Kal."

The marine's gaze lingers on her behind the blur of his mask...then flicks to his crewmmates as they settle back into place one-by-one and start handing out cups.

"Anytime, Shepard."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the most riveting chapter, but it didn't feel right to leave it 70% finished on my computer for all eternity.
> 
> They'll bang, okay?


End file.
